


Not Miles But Days

by Miggy



Series: Special [3]
Category: Glee, Marvel
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Ensemble Cast, Happy Ending, No Really I Swear, Superheroes, Trilogy, conclusion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-14 13:22:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 140,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miggy/pseuds/Miggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before, they all discovered superpowers and learned what it's like to live inside those tales. Now, if they can set the world right, their lives might just follow suit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reality

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to Special and Death and All His Friends, and will be the final story in that trilogy.

The summer leading up to World War III was rife with heatwaves, and Los Angeles didn't have as mild a climate as Kurt Hutton had been promised.

Kurt looked at the newspaper stand with a tight mouth. July 19th's edition was bleak and depressing, just like the 18th had been and the 20th would be. 

Two aircraft carriers had been deployed to the Pacific, heading toward Taiwan. He didn't understand the military, but the Times explained what that meant to its readers: with how tense relations were between Washington and Beijing, neither would expect them to be taken as mere shows of power. Either China would give the U.S. what it wanted and renounce its support of Russia, or open fighting might begin between the two nations. After the attack on the Latverian diplomat at the United Nations that had ripped apart the General Assembly, tensions had rocketed past anything seen since the Cold War. The U.S. would hate anyone supporting Russia, and Moscow had similar hatred for the Yankees.

Rumors swirled that both nations were ready to attack the others' Arctic oil reserves and take them over for themselves. With every passing day, the world seemed to move further toward chaos: World War III. 

And there Kurt was, assisting with wardrobe management for a half-hour sitcom on the Disney Channel.

He was either going to get drafted and die, if that legislation went through, or sit there in the entertainment capital of the world and be absolutely useless. Kurt really hoped they didn't reinstitute the draft. They wouldn't, he told himself. Modern wars were fought with lasers and rockets, not with infantry. Still, an awful lot of soldiers had died over the past decade....

He shook his head. Neither nation really _wanted_ open war. Everything would be fine. 

With that reassurance in mind, he climbed into his carpool when it pulled up to the curb. Alan refused to drive into Kurt's neighborhood, saying that it gave him bad vibes of some unspecified nature. That was annoying, but as Kurt only had to contribute thirty dollars in gas money per month, he walked the half mile to a major intersection each morning in his slightly too-tight shoes. Even a short commute by foot felt like home, which was a distinct negative, but L.A. lacked New York's humidity even in the summer. As they drove under a thick brown band of smog that capped the distant mountains, Kurt reminded himself what a good trade he'd made.

Yes, he was alone. He'd left behind his friends, he'd left behind the first and only boy he'd ever kissed, and he'd left behind his family. And it was still a very good trade.

His jaw set with that reminder all the way to Tribune Studios. It hurt when he walked through the parking lot. _Stop thinking about there. Start thinking about here._

The soundstage to the right held Juniper Sky, as big a hit for the Disney Channel as Hannah Montana had been in its heyday and an heir to its building. It was his destination, and he crossed the street after a truck rumbled by carrying sheets of plywood for a new set. The titular performing twins were away on a concert tour, thankfully, and he didn't have to deal with anything but clothes that week. 

Sky Matthews was an utter sweetheart, every bit as kind as the character she played. Her sister sent Kurt to the hospital two weeks after he moved to California.

Juniper had been labeled as the more talented of the twins by their overbearing stage parents. She'd started her life as June, but that was insufficiently memorable when they began shopping their singing twins around Hollywood. June became Juniper, the family's representation successfully pitched a tale of two horseback-riding girls catching a miraculous break when an agent came to their ranch, and Disney soon had a massive hit on their hands. The Matthews had started their girls young, and so Disney knew they had years of profitable filming ahead of them.

The media, too, decided that Juniper was where the real value rested. Kurt had taken an unpaid internship in the show's second, blockbuster year, and he was deliriously glad to have it waiting for him when he moved. Out of several hundred resumes and even more audition tapes that he sent out before arriving in Los Angeles, only six even called back. Four thanked him for his time. The fifth offered him an internship, but was with a nobody firm staffed by nobodies. Accepting the Disney Channel offer had been the easiest decision Kurt had ever made, even easier than leaving New York. He didn't care if he was acting or singing or dressing actors or painting sets or picking up trash on the beach. 

He just wanted to leave.

Then he met Juniper. It was like the sweet face she put on for the media personally offended her, and she ripped it savagely away as soon as she was off camera. In Juniper's eyes, Kurt was less than nothing. Everyone but the director was only a prop in her life. Kurt was soon thankful that, as the newcomer, he only worked with the 'lesser' sister. Sky was always an easy fitting and kept her behavior steady even when no one was looking. 

Besides, Kurt had enormous sympathy for the twin who always stood in someone's shadow.

Two weeks in, when he'd worked himself ragged each day to impress his boss, Kurt was told that he'd graduated to Juniper for a fitting. He didn't particularly want to, but she was the real star. Anyone with their career in mind would always reach for the very shiniest ring, and so Kurt dutifully planned her wardrobe for a scene with the girls back on the ranch. The filming was taking place at a real ranch outside of town, with live horses, and he kept safety in mind.

"I hate these boots," Juniper said as Kurt checked their color against her jeans. Hmm. Maybe he needed a darker wash of denim.

"I know," Kurt said, "but we _have_ to put you in steel-toed boots when you're near the horses. Our lawyers said so." 

"Why?" Juniper asked. "I'm not stupid. And I'm not wearing these."

"I could look for other boots," Kurt said uncertainly. "I'd have to go buy some new ones, though, and they might be uncomfortable if you can't try them on."

"I'm not wearing boots," Juniper said. "I hate boots. My legs get sweaty."

"It's a horse episode," Kurt said. "You really do have to wear boots."

"No I don't," she said. "I don't have to do anything you say. You're not Glenda." Glenda was head of wardrobe, and the woman who would hopefully be signing off on the outfit Kurt put together.

"I'm not," Kurt agreed, "but I work for her."

"I want my sparkly heels," Juniper said. "The purple ones I wore last time."

"Those really don't go with an episode set at the ranch," Kurt said. Apology still laced his voice. He honestly had no idea how he was managing it.

"Good. I don't want to do one, anyway. Horses smell. And it's hot today."

"It might not be so hot tomorrow?"

"I'm not wearing boots!" Juniper almost shrieked when Kurt didn't immediately obey her wishes. "You're just some stupid nobody!"

He still hesitated.

"Take them off!"

His head began to pound. Keep the talent happy and put together a good outfit: he couldn't see any way to do both. Not with this little hellion in front of him. Dressing her hadn't been the reward he'd thought. He must have done something to make Glenda furious with him. "Let me see if I can find some better socks, so you won't feel any sweat if you do—"

Juniper kicked Kurt squarely in his shin, landing hard with her steel-tipped toes.

Even a young girl could fracture a bone with those, especially if they had as little concern for the people around them as Juniper Matthews. Kurt had been rushed to the hospital and his leg put in a cast, but the show refused to let him come back to set. When his bosses called him the next day, still at home, Kurt feared that he'd already been let go. He'd caused trouble and missed work only two weeks into his new job.

Instead, they talked about public relations and reputations and celebrity management. They talked about how Kurt didn't need to hire a lawyer. They talked about non-disclosure agreements, and they talked a contracted job with an actual salary, so long as he signed another contract promising that he would never breathe a word of how America's Little Sweetheart had broken his leg because she didn't like her shoes.

It was an easy decision. As Kurt worked his next awkward weeks with a leg in a cast, marveling each time a paycheck was deposited in his actual, adult bank account, he laughed. 

Now, a few months into what was a surprisingly enjoyable job when he didn't have to deal directly with Juniper, he laughed again at the memories, and felt freedom rush over him like he'd never felt back home.

He might be the only person in Hollywood whose success story was an _actual_ big break.

* * *

Kurt's carpool dropped him off in the same spot at the end of the day. He waited the ten minutes for a popular food truck parked nearby, but didn't touch his meal until he'd neatly stowed his work outfit back home. Though he'd never admit it to anyone if asked, Kurt Hutton ate his dinner in his underwear, over the sink. When done, he washed his hands, tidied the kitchen, and put on clothes suited for lounging.

He wouldn't have admitted to these, either. The holes in his well-worn jeans weren't anywhere close to fashionable and his shirt was one of Finn's tees that had somehow wound up in his luggage. 

His paycheck didn't cover new clothing purchases, as his roommate had finally told him that he was moving out. Francis was some trust fund kid who'd sought a roomie more out of a desire to have an occasional housesitter than from any real financial need. At first, Kurt thought he'd lucked out to find that home upon moving to a strange new city. When had to close himself into his room to avoid all of Francis' friends doing coke off their coffee table, he'd reassessed that decision. By the third such party, he anonymously called the cops from the grocery store before anything bigger happened. Losing his apartment would be better than being hauled to jail because they thought he was part of it, right?

Francis didn't go to jail, but he did start spending more time away from the city, which was now apparently "totally lame." After three weeks, he called Kurt to tell him that he was moving to Miami and wasn't paying any more rent. If Kurt wanted to cover it, then go ahead. Otherwise, Francis would get evicted and Kurt would come along for the ride. It was fine, Francis told him before hanging up; he wouldn't care about the hit on his rental history.

If Kurt only ate twice per day, never bought new clothes, and never had to get anything dry-cleaned to get a stain out, then he should be able to cover enough of the rent to make it through the next month alone. Hopefully, he'd find a decent person by that point. Until then, anything messy was eaten in his underwear, and he wore Finn's shirt that could go straight in the washing machine and that Kurt didn't care about ruining.

As So You Think You Can Dance started its second hour, Kurt shot a wistful look at a window facing the sunset. Out there and to the north was West Hollywood. Kurt had only made a few trips, but actually being there was like nothing he'd ever experienced in New York. 

Of course New York had its own gay centers, but his parents were top-secret government workers. He'd fretted that if he dared going even to an all-ages gay-friendly dance club, as innocent as any he could find in New York, some spy network would tell their boss who would tell his parents. Then his parents would want to have a little talk about where he'd been that night.

He didn't know if he actually liked the clubs here, and he was glad that his age had kept him out of some of them. Even those minor-friendly clubs had been very... sweaty. It was a heady rush, to be sure; finally, everyone in the room knew who he was, and not a single person cared. But for someone who'd saved up his allowance to go to Broadway shows or art displays at the Met, WeHo clubs were a little more overwhelming and a lot more overtly sexual than he'd expected. 

Still, he was young in the big city, with a hot job that anyone would kill to have. That was the high life. He worked in entertainment and made a living off it. 

But that living was going to run out if he didn't find a new roomie by the end of next month. So, no club cover charges for Kurt Hutton. No cab fare. Nothing but sitting in his apartment, watching television, and wishing that he'd gotten two tacos but not wanting to put back on his real clothes to make the trip. _Oh well. Everyone in Hollywood's supposed to be in shape, and this place doesn't have a workout room. It's supposedly better to sleep hungry. Maybe I'll burn calories overnight._

If he tried, Kurt thought as he wormed his way down into the admittedly comfortable couch that Francis had abandoned, he could justify anything about his new life to himself. He'd left New York behind, and that was just the end of it. Everything was heading up from there.

The doorbell rang. Kurt hopped to his feet and padded silently to the door. He was used to his old building where a visitor would only be buzzed up after identifying themselves. Here, the doors were open to a second-floor walkway like some cheap motel. Especially when Francis' friends had made a few final visits, Kurt had been very glad for having two locks and a chain.

Kurt put his palms flat and leaned in to the peephole, quietly enough that no one would hear him on the other side. It was a good thing that no one dangerous was lurking, because Kurt couldn't hold back his surprised yelp when he saw a mohawk filling his vision. It took him three tries to get the chain undone before he flung open the door. "Puck?" Kurt demanded.

"Hey," Puck said, and held up a ratty duffel bag. "Got space?"

"You're in L.A.," Kurt said dumbly. Had he fallen asleep on the couch? Was he dreaming the sudden appearance of one of his old New York friends?

"Yeah, glad you finally posted your address a while back. Some of us were wondering if you really made it out here, after all that radio silence." It was true; Kurt had only posted about his life in broad strokes until he felt like he had more to be proud of sharing. Puck gestured with his bag. "Can I come in?"

"But why are you in L.A.?" Kurt asked.

"Because I want to get a pair of mouse ears at Disneyland, why do you think? I moved. Let me in. It's hot, and the cab I took over here barely had working a/c."

Still bewildered, Kurt stepped aside and let him inside. 

Ever since Rachel had introduced them at thirteen years old and they'd all turned into a solid foursome with Finn, Puck had been a constant presence in Kurt's life. Although they'd originally found it difficult to click, Puck sympathized with Kurt's problems with his dad. They didn't have much in common, but Puck revealed himself as a willing confidante whenever Kurt wanted to say a few words that were all he could manage but carried so much.

_It's like... it'd be easier if I weren't there._

_I do ten things right. He remembers the one wrong thing._

_I'm just trying not to disappoint him._

It had left them closer than they'd otherwise be, and Puck no longer seemed like he was out there at the furthest possible corner of their little friendship quadrangle. And then they'd kissed.

They hadn't dated after that. Puck still talked about his conquests with occasional girls from his neighborhood, since going to school with the same six girls every day limited his options rather severely. But those talks weren't very often, and Kurt hadn't been entirely sure of where they were in that strange amorphous zone between 'friends' and 'friends who kiss sometimes.' Wherever they were, it certainly hadn't moved toward anything more serious, and then Kurt's move across the country had effectively ended it.

Had Puck shown up as a friend, or as a friend who kissed Kurt sometimes? Kurt swallowed. He didn't know which he wanted. "I, um. Technically, I have a roommate, but he's taken off." He closed the door behind them. "I don't know if you should use his things, though. I need to think about that. Do you mind staying on the couch?"

"Sure, no problem. Where's the bathroom?"

For that, Kurt had no problems with using Francis' things. His bathroom was sacred, and having his own bathroom was the one thing he'd been loathe to give up before he moved into a cheaper rent tier. "Through that door, but again, you probably shouldn't touch his stuff. Or maybe it's all right. I just... don't do it tonight." Puck smirked, and Kurt felt even more flustered. "Seriously, why are you here, Puck?"

"I told you. I moved, and it made a lot more sense to find you than the girls."

Kurt blinked. "What girls?"

"Dude, do you even pay attention to anyone else?"

Generally not, no. He occasionally logged on to Facebook to let people know that he was still alive, and sent messages back and forth with Rachel to see how she was doing in London. (Not well.) He'd left behind New York on purpose, after all. It wasn't that he'd wanted to leave behind his friends, but he needed to feel like he had his new life in place before he reconnected. Kurt shook his head.

"Santana and Brittany are out here, too."

"Oh." He'd had no idea. They were probably the people in that class that he'd gotten along with the most poorly, so it was unsurprising that out of everyone, he wouldn't know that those two were in his city. "No, I didn't know they'd moved to L.A. It is sort of a big place, after all."

"No shit. Flying in was unreal. It's like the houses never stop."

Kurt occasionally missed Manhattan's endless forest of midrises and highrises, and he always missed good public transit. Los Angeles assumed that everyone had a car, and any assistance offered to those who didn't seemed almost grudging. He didn't own one, coming from New York as he had, and so even grocery trips were annoying. Everything was so far away. "Mmmhmm. They do love their suburbs and skin-aggravating car exhaust."

"Well, I'm going to take a leak," Puck announced, and the small talk was apparently over. "Nice shirt, by the way."

Blushing, Kurt went to change out of Finn's enormous tee. By the time he'd identified acceptable cheaper clothes to wear in front of company, Puck was out on the couch, asleep after finishing a bag of airport store trail mix that he'd left on the coffee table. Kurt threw away the bag, found a light blanket to drape over Puck, and smiled as he went to his room to quietly read. 

That wasn't a turn he'd expected his life to take.

* * *

New turn in his life or not, he still had work the next day.

"Um." Kurt ran his hands through his hair. "I don't have extra keys, so you can't leave until I get back, all right? There's the TV, and... I guess you can use Francis' room if you want to take a nap. He's not coming back, so you might as well." Hopefully that'd be fine, Kurt thought, and then just as quickly decided that he needed to stop worrying over the feelings of the person who'd abandoned him for Miami.

"Cool." 

About to leave, Kurt paused. "If you find drugs in his room, please tell me and I'll get rid of them. I'm sure that he probably took all of them with him, but I just want to be on the safe side." Puck's eyebrows crept up his forehead, and Kurt said, "Look, he was living on a trust fund, but he rented a place like this." He gestured to the apartment that was large for the neighborhood—the better to throw parties—but painfully generic, and with metal gratings across the front windows. "What do you think he was spending his other money on?"

Puck took everything in and snorted. "Wow. You sure settled into L.A. life quick."

Kurt rolled his eyes. He could almost hear a ticking clock in his head as the workday approached. "I was the anonymous tipster who brought the cops here during one of those parties. I'm not about to get sent to jail because he couldn't pack all of his stuff. Let me know if you find anything, and don't go in my room."

"Whatever. I kinda thought you'd be happier to see me." 

"I am! I'm very happy to see a friendly face, but I need to get to where my carpool picks me up or I'll be late for work. Seriously, don't leave the apartment until I get back. If you leave the door open, you're going to come back to things missing." Kurt managed a smile as he gathered his bag, wallet, and keys. "I'll see you after work, okay?"

"Later. Do you have food?"

There was cereal on top of the fridge, at least, so Puck wouldn't starve. "Some. I'll bring more!" Kurt said as he slipped out the door and hurried down the steps and toward his ride. There were fresh scorch marks on the sidewalk from some street villain fight, or perhaps the heroes who'd faced them, but Kurt ignored the signs that other Los Angelenos might gawk at. The villains in L.A. were far less intimidating than those in New York, and the heroes were rarer and scrappier to match. Here, he didn't worry about accidentally getting caught in the crossfire of some new laser array that would take out a dozen people, only serving to inspire Captain America or Ms. Marvel with his death. No, in Los Angeles, Kurt only had to worry about would-be heroes causing obnoxious fights as the LAPD directed his carpool along a detour.

It was just another benefit that L.A. had over his hometown.

The morning passed in a blur. Was Puck really there in Los Angeles? Part of Kurt was practically dancing, thinking that his roommate problem had been solved. "You're in a good mood," said his boss Glenda as Kurt showed her his accessory finds for Sky. They'd slowly started letting him take over the forgotten sibling's wardrobe. Everyone on set wanted to keep him away from Juniper, lest the nondisclosure agreement fall apart, and he enjoyed giving Sky a voice of her own through her outfits, anyway. "What's up?"

"One of my friends from back home surprised me at my door last night. And I was looking for a new roommate anyway, so maybe I won't have to find a new place."

Glenda seemed happy that Kurt was happy, and let him proudly show off all his acquisitions. Having earned praise for filling in so many wardrobe gaps within his allowed budget, Kurt was sent off to lunch with a smile. The studio cafeteria was always a place to survey what everyone else was eating, and so Kurt dutifully ordered the same red pepper and tomato soup with a side salad that half the people there had chosen. Although his fingers now itched for his phone, he made himself finish first. It wouldn't do to get soup on his work clothes because he was distracted. As soon as it was gone, he whipped out his phone and punched in Puck's name.

_With my roommate gone you could really take his room. I need someone to cover his rent. If you can find a job in the next few weeks we'll be good? :)_

It was presumptuous, and probably foolish, but seeing a friendly face had buoyed Kurt's spirits more than he'd realized. This was someone who knew him. Kurt wasn't trying to impress Puck, unlike everyone at work. Puck was the boy who'd gotten into a very serious competition with Finn over who could make the best farting noises with their hands, after all.

Well, he had changed out of Finn's oversized shirt, Kurt admitted, so there was some minor impressing going on toward Puck. But it really was a hideous shirt, worn only because it was acceptable to ruin. He'd have done the same for anyone who'd shown up.

When his carpool dropped him off, Kurt didn't bother with the food truck that had claimed the corner that day. If his roommate problem was solved so quickly, then they could celebrate with delivery. He ordered on the way, remembering their favorite foods at some of the restaurants around their old homes, and hurried up the stairs with a smile on his face. "I'm home," he announced when he let himself in, and checked the time. "Dinner should be here in about twenty to thirty minutes."

Puck looked up from where he was slouched on the couch in front of some terrible TBS comedy rerun. "I ate your cereal," he said, and pulled his hand from the box. It barely rattled.

"That's fine." Kurt closed himself into his bedroom and began hanging up his work outfit. After several discarded attempts, he changed into a gently distressed pair of grey twill pants, softened from wear, and and a t-shirt that he'd bought on Tina's recommendation when they and Mercedes visited a street fair. It was casual, but still an _outfit_. He felt far more like himself than he had during his lonely nights in tent-sized t-shirts or even, god forbid, sweatpants. "So... you moved to Los Angeles," he said when he returned to the living room. "You haven't told me that story, yet."

"You didn't tell anyone why you moved," Puck retorted.

Kurt smiled sadly. "Puck, you know why I moved."

"You seriously moved to get away from your dad?"

Kurt shrugged and started tidying the room. How had Puck made such a mess already? "I love him, and I want him to keep loving me." As much as that was possible, anyway. "That'll be easier for everyone if I'm here. He won't have to...." Acknowledge him. Treat Kurt's life as something that happened every day, instead of as an occasional public display at Pride festivals that ended and was shelved until next year. "Anyway, I love it here. I'm already credited on an actual huge hit show, and my grocery store sells organic things that I've never heard of before. And you remember how harsh winter can be on my skin."

Puck's expression said that he remembered nothing of the type, but he nodded obligingly. "You shouldn't have to move because of him if you didn't want to, though."

"I did want to. Look, everything's working out great for me, so...." _So drop it_ went unsaid, but Puck seemed to pick up on it regardless.

"Well, I just wanted a change," Puck said. "And everyone else seems to be moving out here, so whatever. Might as well have good weather if I leave New York, right?" He frowned. "Do they really have a ton of earthquakes?"

"I've only felt one. It was small." It had still scared Kurt, but he mostly hid it, since it came in the middle of work when he was surrounded by coworkers.

"Cool. Uh, I got your text. About roommate stuff."

"And?" Kurt asked hopefully, but was distracted by the doorbell. "Dinnertime!" he said happily, and paid the deliveryman with money that he was no longer terrified to spend. 

They feasted on a half-dozen Thai selections that would have lasted Kurt alone for many more meals, but would now probably be lucky to keep for another day. The spicy chili sauces were hotter than either of them remembered from New York takeout. Kurt still wasn't used to all the changes between New York and Los Angeles, and so many of them were tiny but unexpected like that. Between bites, Kurt shared stories about life in Los Angeles, and Puck shared his travel tale in return.

After things were stowed in the fridge, Kurt slumped next to Puck on the couch. It had been a long day, but the weekend seemed suddenly more appealing than it had before Puck's arrival. Maybe they could go out and see things in the city. Kurt could show Puck the little he was familiar with, and they could explore new territory. They could split cab fare and have each other's back if they accidentally stumbled into a bad neighborhood in this still-new city to them.

Puck's fingertips trailed along Kurt's arm. Kurt sucked a breath through his teeth before he could help himself, uncertain as the still-newcomer to romance that he was.

He'd never dared to date anyone in New York. That decision was easy enough, because he'd spent most of his life unnoticed by any boy who might actually think that he was cute. He was always short next to his brother, who kept shooting further toward the sky in what had to be a clear violation of the twin code. That and stubborn baby fat made him feel positively _round._

He finally grew in height and carved off pounds, but still, Kurt knew that his body wasn't anything to put on display. Except when the weather was at its warmest, he always wore multiple pieces; when anything beyond a single layer was too much, he still made sure that the clothes weren't too tight. He had more friends at his new government school and got along well with some of them, but he'd resigned himself to a life of chastity until he got the hell away from his parents.

Then came a senior year party at Tina's. Her parents were so thrilled for her to have friends that they gave her free rein over the apartment while they took a research trip. Wasting no time, she soon had the entirety of their class over for a party and had cracked her parents' liquor cabinet.

There were a lot of games that people could pair with alcohol. While some of them designed a drinking game to go along with an episode of Wheel of Fortune, others started a round of Truth or Dare where all the early dares seemed to involve their glasses. For the first time in his life Kurt was drunk off actual liquor, rather than the danger of stealing one or two drinks from a forbidden wine bottle. The drinks—he wasn't sure what they were—had burned long slow paths to his stomach, and now the floor felt as comfortable as his bed.

"Okay," Santana said, looking around. Her words were loose around the edges. "Puck... Truth or Dare?"

"Truth," Puck shrugged. He kept picking that, like it was a point of pride that few people could come up with a question that he'd refuse to answer. Thanks to that lack of shame, he was less Dare-drunk than most of them. 

Santana grinned. "When was the most embarrassing time that you couldn't get it up?"

Puck opened his mouth to answer. After staring in annoyance at Santana for a beat, while the others in the game giggled at him, he shrugged and held up his hands to acknowledge defeat. If there was one thing Noah Puckerman wouldn't discuss, it was anything that questioned his perfect masculinity. "Dare me."

As Santana considered her options, Brittany leaned over and fell into Santana's lap. "Have you ever liked a guy? Because I like both guys and girls because guys and girls are both really hot, and it's neat when other people think that, too."

Kurt raised an eyebrow from his spot on the floor. 

"That's another Truth," Puck pointed out.

"Okay," Santana said. "Then kiss Kurt."

Kurt's other eyebrow raised as his foggy mind struggled to catch up, and then he sat. "Wait," he said, looking around at the half-dozen faces grinning back at him, and Puck's surprised one. "I don't...." This was going to be his first kiss. Just like he'd never dated a boy, he'd never kissed a boy. He didn't know if he wanted it to happen like this, with people watching and on a dare to a straight boy, but he was a senior in high school who had to lie about who he was to keep his father happy. He wanted to know what it felt like. His mouth closed without further protest and he shrugged and smiled at Puck.

Although Kurt had halfway expected Puck to back out of the dare, he was apparently as serious about meeting it as any Christmas Story character. Puck scooted close to him and caught Kurt's cheeks with his hands.

"Nice," Brittany said. "He's getting into it."

"Hey," Puck said to Kurt. If Kurt were sober, Puck's beer breath would be awful.

"Hey," Kurt said. He swallowed. Was this really how he wanted it to happen? He was about to show a straight boy just how very, very straight he was, because kissing him would be so awful that it'd prove beyond a shadow of any doubt that—

Puck kissed him and thought fled. When Puck's mouth parted, Kurt followed suit in the slow, foolish way alcohol brought with it. _He's really kissing me,_ Kurt thought. Puck's hands were strong, and rough where they caught Kurt's stubble. The sort of texture that Kurt tried so fastidiously to avoid on his own hands was intoxicating on someone else. He fell further into the kiss than alcohol could ever manage, and eventually realized that Puck had kept kissing past the requirements of any dare.

Then Puck pulled back, frowning, and didn't talk to him the rest of the night. Kurt sighed as he left. At least they were friends, and would be again after Puck worked through his inevitable freakout over what had happened. Maybe that party had been a bad idea, after all.

Instead, Puck cornered him the next school day in their floor's bathroom. "I just wanted to try this again without beer," he said, "because that was weird." 

"Okay," Kurt said, swallowing. Without those fancy vodka shots that Tina had put together, it was pretty weird for him, too. Still, a boy had just kissed him and then asked for more. He wasn't going to turn that down.

Puck wasn't a gentle kisser, but he was skilled. Kurt felt like he was being led in a dance to which he knew no steps and had only watched on television, but so long as he trusted his partner, he wouldn't fall flat. His hands stole around Puck's shoulders and he leaned up on his toes like he'd seen in the movies, even though they were nearly the same height.

That made Puck laugh, but before they pulled apart, Finn opened the bathroom door and yelped at the sight before him. Kurt shot back from Puck like the other boy's touch burned, but Puck met Finn's shocked stare with a cocky smile, washed his hands, and dried them. Every step was unneeded and deliberate, another second that kept him there while Finn gawked. "Newsflash: your brother's hot," Puck said as he brushed past Finn and into the hallway.

Nervous laughter bubbled out of Kurt and he touched his lips with his fingertips. They still felt like they were tingling, but that might be the adrenaline. "You knew I was gay," he reminded Finn as Finn blinked hard, trying to sort through what he'd seen.

"Yeah, but I didn't think, uh... when did this happen?"

"Brittany dared him to kiss me. At the party." Kurt started washing his hands, too, for something to do. "I suppose he liked it. Can you please look a little less shocked?"

"Just give me a second to catch up, here. I was just coming in to see if I had a booger in my nose and then, well. It was weird seeing someone sucking face five feet from me, is all," Finn said and shrugged.

Kurt looked at him flatly. "Do you have any idea how many times you've looked like you were trying to eat Rachel's tongue in front of me?"

"I didn't think anyone cared about that." Finn tilted his head up and leaned in close to the mirror, and then made a face. He pressed on the other nostril, blew, and grinned when a wad stuck to the mirror.

 _"Finn!"_ Kurt said in horror.

"What? They've got janitors."

"It's a private bathroom! The janitors might think that I did it!" Kurt slapped Finn lightly on his arm, and then drew his hand back like he'd touched something foul: Finn Hutton, _the mucus beast._ But, as he walked back out, a smile reappeared. His brother was the first person Kurt had come out to, and he'd taken it well then, but the theoretical was a lot different from Finn seeing his very male brother making out with his very male best friend right in front of him. With only a bit of time needed, Finn had started acting like the disgusting brother he always was. Nothing had changed.

Nothing had changed, Kurt thought, exhaling with relief, and yet everything had.

He and Puck didn't date, because Kurt knew he was leaving all too soon and Puck had no plans to leave New York. Puck wasn't the dating type, anyway, and Kurt didn't want to risk his father catching him when he'd come so close to making it through his childhood without that particular confrontation. But he did have a friend who liked to make out with him on occasion, and that was really better than Kurt had expected to get.

Now that boy was in Los Angeles, in Kurt's apartment, _alone_. When Puck had shown up at the door, Kurt's overwhelming reaction—after the shock—was delight over seeing a friend. Puck was the first boy he'd kissed, but that was a relative handful of encounters next to all the friendly meetings with the four of them, or even the times when Puck had just sat next to him as someone who understood having a hard time at home. Los Angeles had opened a door with Kurt's trip to the emergency room, but it was still hard and he was lonely. A friend had been the best face he could see, even better than his brother.

Puck's fingers trailing along his arm had brought their history beyond platonic friendship back in sharp relief. Kurt could feel his pulse somewhere around his tonsils as he looked at Puck, half-lidded because he couldn't bring himself to really meet Puck's eyes. "Hi."

"Hey," Puck said, and scooted closer. "How was work today?"

"Work was fine," Kurt said.

Puck leaned in and Kurt sank under the looming plane of his body almost submissively. "Got any plans for the weekend?" Puck asked.

"I... I hadn't decided yet. Maybe?"

"Cool. Now we're all caught up." Puck lunged forward and kissed Kurt with far more passion than New York had ever held. The cushions under Kurt cupped him as their combined weight pressed down. He felt deliriously helpless between the slick leather and Puck's warm body, and his hands began tracing paths along Puck's back like a man feeling the boundaries of a pitch-black prison cell. The dinner they'd shared was still spicy on Puck's tongue. It felt like he should be drenched in sweat already.

One of Puck's hands started working off the tight white tank top he'd lounged in all day, and Kurt's mind spun dizzily. _We've never done this before_ , he thought. Never had Puck laid on top of him. Never had he taken off clothes. "Can I?" Puck murmured against Kurt's neck, which Kurt arched instinctively under his tongue. He nodded, feeling just as drunk as he had on the night of their first kiss, and was like a passenger in his own body as his arms lifted and Puck pulled off his shirt. He'd lost more weight since New York, but as Puck surveyed what he'd revealed, Kurt could only hope that he wouldn't be humiliated.

Puck didn't look for long. Nearly as soon as Kurt's shirt was off, he dove down and worked his mouth wetly along Kurt's throat, and then down his chest. "So fucking beautiful, baby," he said in the space between kisses, and Kurt was too overwhelmed to wonder when he'd turned into 'baby,' or how Puck could say that when he'd barely looked at him. "I've been waiting for this. Ever since you left."

"For what?" Kurt asked, heart fluttering in his throat again.

"Whatever you want," Puck said, and trailed his hand along Kurt's torso until it rested on the waistband of his pants. Blood pounded through Kurt's body, sending emotions and lust rushing through every vein, and it all seemed to center at his groin. When he realized that he was getting visibly, undeniably hard not inches away from where Puck's hand rested, Kurt pushed against Puck's shoulders.

"Stop, stop." Kurt's cheeks blazed. "Stop, Puck."

Puck sat up, frowning.

"I...." Kurt tittered. "That was. Wow. All right. I didn't expect us to go that far." He moved his legs awkwardly together, and grabbed his discarded shirt and bunched it over his lap in the hopes of hiding the erection that hadn't faded when his embarrassment kicked in. "Puck, you know that I like you as a friend, and I know that we're attracted to each other." He giggled nervously again. "I mean... you seem to think... what you said just then, well. And I think that you're... I need to stop talking." Puck watched him breathe in and out until Kurt felt like he had control over his voice again, and only then did Kurt continue. "I'm nowhere near ready to do anything like... whatever we were about to do."

"Oh. Sure." Puck's head tilted. "Does this mean I still need to pay rent?"

Everything went very still, and Kurt's hearing turned tinny like a poorly connected speaker. His tongue was huge and numb inside his mouth. "You... this was all for...." Tears beaded hot and he lunged off the couch. "What is wrong with you?"

"What?" Puck asked, spreading his hands. "You've got a job, I don't! We're still in a freaking depression or something, so who knows if I'll be able to find one. But hey, I can pay like this until then, you know?" His grin faded as a tear spilled onto Kurt's cheeks. "What... Kurt, I wasn't trying to hurt you or anything. Dude, we've made out. A lot. I've felt that against my hip before," he added, pointing to where the shirt was still bunched in front of Kurt's crotch. 

Kurt pulled his shirt back on in a fury, not caring that his fading erection was now visible. He'd thought something amazing was happening, if far too quickly for his tastes. Instead, he felt like the times he'd tried watching snippets of porn when no one else was in the New York apartment: hollow, like this wasn't how it was supposed to be. He wanted a courtship and longing glances that finally built up for too long and exploded into passion with a perfect musical soundtrack. Even if his body had temporarily made him take leave of his senses that night, it was all too clear now how far removed from that ideal he was. "Get out." The first boy he'd ever kissed had just tried to turn Kurt losing his virginity into a financial transaction.

"Get out?" Puck repeated in disbelief. "I don't have anywhere else to go tonight, and we're friends! You can't throw me out!"

"Watch me," Kurt said, and grabbed Puck's arm. Although he managed to drag him a few inches toward the door, Puck's thicker mass was too much to overcome, and Kurt flung Puck's arm away like luggage.

"I'm sorry," Puck said, sounding sincere. But who knew if he was? He'd really seemed to want Kurt on that couch, not Kurt's apartment. "Look, I'm happy to see you. It's badass that you've already got this great job. You're kicking everyone else's ass. I just can't give you any money right now, and I didn't want to be a jerk and ask to stay just because I showed up."

"You don't understand at all," Kurt said. In the rare times that he let himself admit it, he knew that a job with an entry fee of a broken limb wasn't exactly a dream come true. He wasn't about to give up on his other dreams. Not ones as big as what love what supposed to be like. Not when he finally had a chance to live his perfect life, if he could ever afford to leave the house.

"So talk to me about it instead of getting all bitchy," Puck asked. "Come on. It's me. Remember all the times I was there for you with your dad? I'm on your side. Just... calm down."

"Fine. You can sleep in Francis' room," Kurt said. He was tired. Maybe they'd sort it out tomorrow, but he didn't want to fight any more that night. He turned and walked away, heedless of how early it still was and how he'd have hours to kill before falling asleep. Before he closed his door, Kurt turned and said, "And don't come into mine."

* * *

Kurt made it ninety-eight minutes without opening his door again. His emotions had cycled through humiliation and disappointment in a dozen different ways; some were a dull ache, others stabbed. When that treadmill exhausted his mind, it sought other topics, and soon all Kurt could think about was how there was absolutely nothing for breakfast the next morning except Thai leftovers. He needed bread and eggs, and Puck had grazed his way through Kurt's cereal.

The nearest grocery store was more than a mile away, across several major intersections, but Kurt pulled on his shoes. He wanted to get away from Puck and into the comparatively fresh air. Maybe then, his head would clear.

His escape would have gone more smoothly if Puck hadn't still been sitting on the couch. "Where are you going?" Puck asked.

"Out." Kurt folded his arms. "You ate all my food, and I'm going to buy more. The store stays open late on Fridays."

"I only ate a box of cereal."

"Like I said." Kurt tossed his head and turned to the door, and groaned when he heard Puck coming up behind him. "No."

"Look, we need to talk."

"No. Stay here."

"If you leave me here," Puck said, "then I'll just open the door and follow you, except I won't be able to lock it. So I bet that'll go really well for anything in here that you don't want to give to whoever wanders by."

Dammit. Torn, Kurt debated between retreating to his room or letting Puck come with him. If he hadn't needed food, he would have returned to his bedroom, but his kitchen really was empty. Being out in the open might be slightly less awkward than being in the apartment together, at least, and that way he'd have another pair of arms to carry things home. "Fine. Come on. Don't talk about what happened."

Puck waited until the end of the block to start talking. "Look, I didn't mean to freak you out or anything."

"What part of 'don't talk' do you not understand?"

Puck punched the crosswalk button repeatedly. The red hand opposite them glared in the darkness. "No one is hiring, okay? You think I wasn't looking for work back home, too? Everyone's freaked out about what might happen with the war, and so there are no jobs. Like, at all. You're some kind of freaking miracle worker for landing this one."

Kurt said nothing, and certainly didn't admit how he'd moved across the country without any planned salary and with a lot of credit cards that he'd applied for on his eighteenth birthday. He'd hoped that, somehow, he could turn that unpaid work at a studio into something that covered his bills before the money ran out. It really hadn't been the best plan. _Thank god for non-disclosure agreements._

"I like you, and I didn't want to be someone who just expected you to let me stay there and sit on my ass when I probably won't be able to find work for a while." Puck waited for Kurt to set into motion when the signal turned, and tagged along after him. "I mean, you haven't posted any pictures with anyone after you left home. I thought you might be lonely. So, since I just didn't want to sit on my ass, I figured maybe it'd work if instead, you were sitting on my—"

"Puck!" Kurt said, horrified. This was not being romanced. This was not how he'd dreamed _anything_ would go.

"What?" Puck asked.

"You're seriously asking me what's wrong? I...." Kurt laughed bitterly. "The first boy I ever kissed only did it because he was dared to."

"And?" Puck grinned. "I just needed a little jumpstart to realize that you were hot. Come on, I met you when we were like thirteen. You're not the Pillsbury Doughboy any more." He poked his index finger against Kurt's stomach, like he expected him to make the giggling noise. "And I get that, now."

"Wow, why did I ever turn you down?" Kurt asked bitterly. A car honked at them, and Kurt realized they'd been arguing in the middle of the street and the light had turned again. With a hiss of annoyance, he hurried to the sidewalk. Puck followed close behind. "You showed up out of nowhere and expected me to take... _that_ as rent payment," Kurt said with a nervous gesture toward Puck's crotch. "When I've never even had the chance to...." When he'd never made love, not once. That had to come before anything. Why couldn't Puck see that? Kurt closed his eyes and exhaled, and then started walking down the next block. They needed to get this grocery run over quickly, because then he could lock himself in his room again. "And then, by way of apology, you tell me that you think I'm hot now because I grew out of being an overweight baked goods mascot?"

Puck ran a hand over his face. "Come on, you know I'm bad with words. Can we just start everything over again? Remember how we're friends?"

"Fine. If you want to stay," Kurt said, "then you have to shave your head."

Puck started. "What?"

Kurt's chin rose. His voice was glacially cold. "Your hair personally offends me. It looks like you're trying to smuggle a ferret, and they're illegal in the state of California." _That's right. See how you like it, Noah Puckerman._

Puck scowled, and then his forehead furrowed. "Wait."

"No, Puck. We're doing this trip quickly, so it's _done._ "

Puck ran a few steps, grabbed Kurt's wrist, and twisted him around hard enough that Kurt slammed against the nearby wall. As Kurt cried out, more in surprise than pain, Puck forced his hand over Kurt's mouth and hissed, "Shut up."

Kurt's eyes widened in outrage above Puck's fingers, and then widened further when he saw the fireball shoot past them on the cross street he'd been ready to step into.

"You leave New York behind for a few months and you already forgot how to listen for fights?" Puck murmured, and they pulled a step back.

"I was distracted," Kurt said darkly, frowning as he heard more fighting behind them. It didn't sound like the epic fights he remembered from Manhattan, but even a superpowered street brawl could kill any civilian foolhardy enough to get caught in the crossfire. Which, he realized unhappily as he placed a commotion in both directions, now included them. He _was_ an idiot. He'd seen those scorch marks on the sidewalk; he knew the area was having problems with powers.

"Are there good guys in L.A.?" Puck asked as they pressed themselves against a niche in the wall and waited for the fighting to stop. "Or is this bad guys going up against the cops or something?"

"Everyone here's trying to make a name for themselves, good and bad," Kurt said. Just like wannabe actors tried to make themselves famous in tabloids, so did wannabe supervillains cutting their teeth on holding up convenience stores. "It could be either, really."

They listened for any signs of whether some hero was facing off against whoever'd thrown that fireball. That wouldn't necessarily be a sign that things would end more smoothly; sometimes, an officer's gun stopped things faster than powers versus powers. "That sounded like Jurassic Park," Puck said a second later, after they heard a strange roar. "Do you have dinosaurs here?"

Kurt couldn't help but smirk. Now that they'd found their safe little cubby, fear had mostly fled and taken a lot of his annoyance with it. "Could be, I suppose. We do have the tar pits. I'm not sure if they have dinosaurs, but if so, it could be some sort of zombie they pulled from them." Or maybe the pits just held mammoths and the like. Kurt wasn't sure. Nearly everything else in Los Angeles sounded more appealing than spending time around a few smelly pits filled with dead animal carcasses. 

"A zombie dinosaur would be awesome," Puck decided.

The fighting quieted. After thirty seconds of silence, both men poked their heads out and waited. No fireballs, no zombie dinosaurs. "Let's hurry," Kurt said. He could still hear occasional grunts behind them. If the way ahead was clear, their best move was to get clear of the danger before it started up again. As a trained New Yorker, Puck shared that goal, and they both walked quickly toward the cross street that had once held flying fireballs.

They stepped clear of the block of buildings and froze like animals under approaching headlights. The fight wasn't over. Villains, whoever they were, had a group of teenagers (and their real live dinosaur) caught in a fog that circled around their small group. Inside that thick cloud, the group cried for help from the nightmares circling them in shadowy silhouettes. Their voices were tiny and muffled like they were far, far away.

"Come on, hurry, before they see us," Kurt whispered, and tugged Puck forward again. Although he felt bad for leaving those kids behind in that cloud, they were in a much better position to defend themselves than the unpowered Kurt and Puck. They had a dinosaur, after all. Once Kurt and Puck got to safety, then they could call 911 and bring in some official help against those nightmare-makers.

A scream built to a crescendo as a hand broke free of the miasma. "When blood is shed," shouted a female voice, "let the Staff of One appear!" The hand suddenly held a long metal staff, like something Gandalf might wield, and tightened around it. _"Reality!"_ the girl intoned. Her staff glowed and she moved it in a long, slow arc around the street, cutting apart the nightmare cloud like a laser through metal.

It was blindingly brilliant: perfect cover for their escape. Kurt shut his eyes almost all the way and kept walking, but realized after a few steps that Puck was watching instead of following. "Puck," he hissed, and Puck squinted in his direction.

The light glanced off Puck, flashing as quickly as if he'd been in the concert audience under twirling spotlights.

"Puck!" Kurt gasped again, and ran to pull him forward when Puck looked dazed and didn't move. "Are you all right?" he asked as he tugged Puck toward the far side of the street.

"I... yeah," Puck said. He shook his head hard. "That felt weird. Like when Artie did it to us."

Kurt didn't stop moving until they were hidden, and only then let himself wonder what on earth Puck was talking about. "Like when Artie did what to us?"

Puck paused. "I don't know."

"You're... sure you're all right?" Kurt asked dubiously. The light had seemed helpful rather than like any sort of attack, but Puck's behavior was worrisome. 

"I think so." Puck frowned. "Come on, let's move before they really start up again."

Kurt nodded and hurried toward the next block, and the grocery store that was still a long ways off. They'd have to take a detour on their way back home.


	2. Mirage

"I don't care if someone's pissing me off or trying to beat me at a challenge," Santana told the camera, leaning in and smirking, "no one wins over Santana Lopez at anything she cares about. And if they try? I'll make them pay. End of story." Brittany zoomed the camera out and held up her thumb in their agreed-upon sign to finish. Santana lifted her arms, the better to see her body featured in its minuscule bikini against the beach. "So pick me for Survivor!"

As they walked toward the junker Brittany had purchased for their move to Los Angeles, Santana ticked off titles on her fingers. "Okay, so I've done videos for Survivor, Big Brother, America's Next Top Model, Teen Mom—"

"But you're not pregnant," Brittany said. "Are you?"

"No, but whatever, I can fake it." Having lost her train of thought, Santana jumped to the next topic. "Auditions are coming up soon for Idol, X-Factor, _and_ The Voice, so I have to hit all of those. I think I missed the dancing one."

Brittany brightened. "I'd be good on that show."

"You totally would," Santana agreed, "but that's not going to be for another year, so let's focus on making me super-famous right now, okay?" She tapped Brittany on the nose and smiled. "Remember, the sooner I'm a big star, the sooner... you know."

"The sooner we can do this," Brittany said, and leaned in for a kiss.

Santana stepped away, fear twisting her stomach. She looked around to see if anyone had noticed and tugged her wrap tightly around herself when they seemed to have escaped attention. People were still rolling by on skateboards and rollerblades. The hot dog vendor was still announcing his wares. A tourist couple pointing in their direction, after a second longer, gestured instead at a nearby contortionist working for tips. "Brit, we're in public."

She loved Brittany, end of story. She would always love Brittany. But Santana Lopez was destined to be famous, and there were certain steps a person had to take to reach that level. First, they were discovered. Second, they become loved and adored by millions. And finally, when their publicist decided that they wouldn't take a career hit from the announcement, they came out on the cover of People Magazine, smiling in front of a gently out-of-focus background of green leaves.

What she was doing was an investment in the two of them. She could buy Brittany a yacht and a herd of ponies once she was famous. Brittany loved ponies. And, if she just gave Santana space for a little while, she could have all of the ponies in the freaking world.

"Right," Brittany said dully, and got into the car. Santana climbed into the passenger's seat and said nothing about the deep scratches in the dashboard, nor about the rust hole that was slowly growing in that door. Santana the Superstar could buy Brittany a new car, too; a Ford Mustang, in bright yellow with animal print seat covers. She'd paid attention to what Brittany liked on the road. One day, she'd be able to surprise her with it, all wrapped up in a big bow in some mansion's driveway.

"Drop me off at his place," Santana said when Brittany started driving toward the apartment building where they'd taken rooms. Although their homes were tiny studios, both of them could have easily shared a space. When Santana became famous, though, she'd have photographers stalking her. Having a friend in the same building was something fun, a sign that she hadn't left behind her upbringing when she moved from Brooklyn to Los Angeles. Having someone in the same studio apartment was pure rumor fodder.

Wordlessly, Brittany took the next left and began the detour toward Studio City. "I don't understand," she said after a few blocks. "We were going out back home, and now we can't."

"It's complicated."

They rolled to a stop at a red light. Brittany's eyes were soft and sad when she looked at Santana. "Do you not like me any more?"

"I love you," Santana said. "More than anyone. But—" Brittany looked away at the word, and Santana grabbed her hand and squeezed until Brittany looked back. "But I want to be famous." She'd gone to school with a lot of people who talked about being famous, and some of them had even worked toward it. Santana thought that Rachel Berry was the most obnoxious human being that she'd ever met, but she breathed out talent like most people exhaled carbon dioxide. And, thanks to behavior that was all about _Rachel_ and not about _Rachel's voice_ , Rachel Berry had been forced to move to London not a month after she left high school.

If Rachel's failed Broadway dreams hadn't shown Santana the importance of positioning one's self perfectly, nothing would.

"I want to make you happy," Santana said. "I want to buy you everything you deserve, and take you on an Alaskan cruise so you can see a walrus like you've always wanted, and even hire Pauly Shore for your birthday party, if I can't convince you that he's actually horrible and embarrassing."

"I love Bio-Dome," Brittany said shortly as the light turned green and they pulled forward.

"Okay, then we'll get Pauly Shore," Santana said. "But if I'm going to do that, then I have to get famous first. Okay?"

"I don't want Pauly Shore. I want you."

Santana didn't have an easy answer, and for a while they sailed past an army of palm trees standing at attention against the blue-brown sky. "I'm working on it, okay?" she said when they turned into a driveway and Brittany stopped the car.

"I don't like him," Brittany said as Santana pulled her wrap tight and gathered her purse.

"He's nothing, baby."

"That's not what you're trying to tell people." Brittany sounded heartsick. "I just didn't think this was what we were moving out here for."

"It'll get better," Santana promised her as she opened the door. Heat rose off the asphalt. She could feel it through the thin soles of her sandals. "This won't last forever."

"Nope," Brittany said and leaned over to pull the door shut. Santana watched her pull away wordlessly, heart twisting in her chest. Her face was a smiling mask over her regret, because any waiting paparazzi needed to believe that this girl had just been dropped off by her friend. Nothing was wrong. Santana's hair was perfect. Her face was perfect. She hadn't changed after the beach, and so through her woven cover, they could see her perfect body.

Santana slid on her sunglasses, shouldered her oversized tote, and crossed the small visitor parking lot that lined the row of bungalows. Her perfect fake boyfriend awaited.

Coming to Los Angeles, she'd thought that her list of beard requirements was completely doable. She was a hot piece of ass, after all; what man wouldn't want to show her off while they both worked on their careers? All she needed was a celebrity on the rise whose exposure she could turn to her benefit. He needed to be breathtakingly handsome, so that photographers fell all over themselves to get pictures of the two of them. And he needed to be fine with being used, and not breathe a word about what she was hiding as she worked toward her goal of a happy life for her and Brittany. Simple, right?

It had been harder than she'd expected. There were beautiful women in New York, to be sure, but Los Angeles was like nowhere else she'd ever seen. Santana still felt beautiful in many parts of the city, but as soon as she came within walking distance of anything related to entertainment, she was suddenly average and short. After one painful week of being politely laughed out of their offices, she'd stopped looking at modeling as one potential avenue for fame. The women in those places were giants who'd tower even over Brittany. She'd known that about New York runway models, but somehow she'd gotten it in her head that Los Angeles swim and glamour models were her size. Nope.

She wasn't the prize catch that she was sure she'd be and she'd had to adjust her standards accordingly. While working at her waitressing job (it covered the bills until her big discovery), Santana had chatted up a handsome customer that seemed to fit at least the basic requirements. Her plan ripened from there. He actually seemed to get the whole rainbow flag issue and could keep his mouth shut. His career wasn't anything to speak of, though, and Santana didn't know if she'd met anyone in that entire city with a more ridiculous name.

"Bella!" said Cooper Anderson— _Cooper Anderson_ —when he opened the door. He kissed her flamboyantly on both cheeks, then on the lips. Santana dealt patiently with all of it. His breath was minty-fresh and his lips felt like a tube of chapstick was always within easy reach. He wasn't Brittany, but he wasn't horrible. If this was what it took, she could suck it up without too much complaint.

So long as he didn't talk.

The silence lasted about ten minutes.

Santana glared at him from a recliner. "You promised me that I—" _Wouldn't have to hear you._ "—could think about my lines for this audition tomorrow."

"I'm practicing _my_ audition for Finnick Odair. That role was written for me." Cooper gestured with a broom handle. "Katniss! I will save you! And also Peeta!"

Santana's nose wrinkled. Whenever he did line readings, he reminded her of some unholy but gorgeous spawn of William Shatner and Joey Tribbiani. "They've already narrowed it down to like four people, none of who are you."

"But the role is still open," Cooper said. "Which means that I still have a chance. I just need to visualize my success, and...." His fingers covered his face, then spread and pulled apart. "Open my eyes and see what I've accomplished."

"Whatever. The Hunger Games is stupid." She'd sent a letter to Lionsgate suggesting that they replace the current lead with up-and-coming starlet Santana Lopez, and they'd totally blown her off. Like Jennifer Garner or Lawrence or whatever was all that, and irreplaceable.

Cooper eyed her askance as he practiced with his broom handle. "Last week you made me watch that entire run of that show with the evil little blond kid."

"Game of Thrones is awesome." Watching the series had been a long stretch of blissful hours when Santana could put on the appearance of being with her boyfriend without actually needing to talk to him. Ever.

"It's too complicated. I couldn't keep track of all the characters."

"People die in it all the time, what more do you want?" Santana asked.

"People die all the time in The Hunger Games," Cooper said, and grinned. His broom handle twirled around. "Was that convincing as me attacking you with a trident?"

Santana's face scrunched up. She'd made a terrible mistake picking him, she really had. "In Game of Thrones people die all the time _and_ there are boobs everywhere." She didn't know half the characters' names, and had no idea of most of the plots going on, but no one could argue that it was the best show on television unless Cake Boss also brought on a hot topless blonde girl.

Cooper hesitated, and then pointed his broom at Santana. "Good point." He bent over like he was retrieving something and presented his empty palm. "Sugar cube?"

"What?"

"It's a Finnick line. Did you really believe that I was offering you a sugar cube, or do I need to practice?"

Santana stared at him for a long beat. "Sit down. We're finding something to watch, and you are not talking any more." She scowled when he brought up his favorite recording on the DVR. "Your commercial campaign is _still_ not an option."

Cooper practically pouted as he moved to the channel guide and hunted for something else.

 _I need to buy those foam spacer thingies,_ Santana thought some time later, as Cooper watched television and she studied her pedicure. _I can't afford to have someone do my toes for me any more._ The reminder of her current waitress-only status churned in her gut. How was it that she was _Santana Lopez_ , dating someone who had at least some level of genuine public awareness on his side, and she hadn't been discovered yet? It'd been, like, a month and a half already.

Cooper looked up from his phone. "All right. If there are any photographers out there, they know something's about to go down with the rising star of a _very_ popular commercial campaign. You know, I picked this bungalow because it's completely exposed to the parking lot when the blinds are open and the lights are on."

Santana froze. He'd never told her that it was so easy to see inside from the parking lot at night. "Wait, they could have been looking inside all this time?" She was supposed to be seen walking to his door, and then leaving it the next morning with her hair casually rumpled and wearing the same clothes. The paparazzi weren't supposed to get pictures of her sprawled on a recliner as far away from Cooper as she could manage, inspecting her toenails during commercials for Toddlers & Tiaras and looking supremely bored with her supposed boyfriend.

"No, they can just see this angle," Cooper said, gesturing to a specific spot against the wall. With a sudden fierce grin, he asked Santana, "Do you want me to really get their attention? I promise you, they'll run this if they'll run anything."

"Maybe?" That sounded kind of scary, coming from him and his brain. 

"I'm a method actor. When I auditioned for Men in Black 3, I only wore black for a week beforehand to get into character. I called it my goth phase." Cooper added, frowning, "I can't say that I'm a Bauhaus fan."

"That's not the sort of black the Men in Black wear." Was she really having this conversation?

"Well," Cooper said, ignoring her, "if I'm going to seduce you, I need to look the part. Are you up for this?" His well-intentioned but dim face searched hers, and absolutely nothing there said that they had changed from the original agreement: he would be her beard for an acting challenge and nothing more. Whatever he was offering right now would stay platonic.

"Sure, I guess?" As soon as she'd said it and he leapt into action, Santana's face crumpled with horror over what she'd agreed to. Cooper's hand was down his pants and, with great dedication, he was stroking himself to half-hardness. "Oh god. Forget it. I don't want to be famous." He extended a remote and You Sexy Thing started playing, and Santana almost squealed, "I don't want to be famous!"

Cooper grinned and danced his way in front of the exposed window. "I believe in miracles," he mouthed as his hips began a slow, teasing spiral and his hands worked the bottom of his thin t-shirt. "You sexy thing."

"No. Wait." His attention was on the window, not her; Santana was only a witness to this horror. It was still more than enough.

His body rippled like sunlight on waves as he moved to the music. With each sweep of his hips, his shirt raised higher. His perfect, completely unappealing body flexed and twitched like some artist's model, and that damn thing under his loose khaki cargo shorts thrust obscenely into the air.

Santana didn't know if she had ever wanted Brittany so badly in her life; whether to kiss or use as a human shield, she wasn't sure. Cooper raised his remote to his mouth and pretended to sing into it as his other hand unbuckled his shorts. She cradled her head on her knees and groaned.

"You sexy thing!" Cooper bellowed when he was down to only his boxers. Each new move threatened to make his striptease for the press far more revealing than Santana wanted. She didn't trust those slits in boxer shorts.

"Stop!" she said when his hips moved a little too freely. "Oh my god, why is this happening. You look like you're running with a salami in a plastic bag."

He grinned lasciviously, and with one determined motion, flicked the blinds shut. As soon as he had, his seductive expression fell away. "So, did you buy it?"

Santana stared mutely at him.

"Because I think this was really fantastic practice for Finnick Odair." He extended his hand again. "Sugar cube?"

"Go to bed, Cooper," Santana ordered. "Go to bed, and go to sleep."

"I can't wait to see that in the gossip blogs tomorrow," he said happily, and did as she'd commanded.

* * *

Perhaps astonishingly, Cooper did get press from his striptease. Santana, however, did not.

"The lighting looks great," Cooper said as he squinted at her phone and the tiny TMZ page displayed there. "You can really make out my muscle definition."

"Yay for you," Santana deadpanned as she grabbed her phone back. The blurb was all about how that guy from a short but memorable commercial run apparently had a better body than his wardrobe had let on, and all of their readers were welcome to enjoy. TMZ didn't care at all who he'd been directing that striptease to, and she doubted that any photographer had been in hiding when she'd walked in. Crap. A whole night, wasted. "Okay, here's the deal. We need to be seen in public together, so they'll photograph both of us. I need two nights this week." She checked her phone. "Which'll be Wednesday and Sunday, because those are my only evenings when I don't close at work."

He didn't look enthusiastic, and Santana snapped, "What? Look, you're getting a hot girlfriend without having to buy her anything, or call her and listen to all her problems, or keep tampons under your sink. Deal with it."

"All right, I'll reschedule my water polo practice," Cooper said. "You know, Santana, I am the one who's actually getting photographed. Maybe you could ask me my opinion sometimes?" His smile was very slightly pointed.

"And how long have you been in L.A., compared to me?" He didn't have an argument against that, for she had to be far ahead of where he'd been after a month and a half. "Look, just let me handle things, okay? I'm from New York, and every single person there majors in kicking ass. You're from Iowa, and so you major in raising adorable farm animals and staring in amazement when a spider writes billboards for them."

"Ohio."

"Whatever, they both have corn." She got up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. "But seriously, I appreciate you doing this. And you're right, the lighting looked great in those pictures. You're the best-looking guy in this city and even I can see it."

Cooper's grin was huge as Santana ruffled her hair, slid on her sunglasses, and walked back out to the parking lot. It was so damn easy to leave him in a good mood for their next meeting. 

Brittany had a shift that morning, and so Santana had arranged for a co-worker to swing by and drop her off vaguely near her apartment. She thought the girl's name was Lucia. Maybe. Santana hadn't really paid attention when she'd introduced herself.

"Have a good day, Santana!" Maybe-Lucia said as she dropped Santana off. 

"You too!" Santana said, waving, and then walked unconcernedly down the sidewalk in her bikini and thin cover-up with her legs bare to the summer sun. She earned little attention for that, so close to the beach, and what she did get was appreciative. Los Angeles definitely had its advantages over New York. 

Graffiti made a gallery guiding her home, and she picked up a convenient barbecued chicken bowl a block from her building. Accompanied by a soundtrack of thumping bass and raucous laughter, Santana let herself into the tiny lobby and jogged up the stairs. Her studio was all-white in a way that said "cheap to re-paint" rather than "sleek and modern," but she'd made it her own with colorful decorations from back home. Santana ate half her food, stored the remainder, and then returned a phone call that she'd been putting off for two days.

"Sweetie!" cried her mother, Paloma, when she picked up. "Oh, it's so good to hear your voice." 

"Hi, Mom. How's everyone doing?"

"Oh, we're good, we're good. How are you? Do you need anything? I know you don't have much space, but there's some things you just need to find room for. Do they have your favorite deodorant brand out there?"

"Mom, I'm fine." Santana hesitated. Wait, why was she turning down free stuff? "I mean, yeah, bathroom stuff would be great. It's so expensive, wow."

"I'll send you a care package by the end of the week, okay? I'm so proud of you, finding a job already and paying for your own apartment." The 'but' had to be coming. "But I just don't understand why you couldn't do all of this in New York."

"I told you, Mom. Everything's out here. I'm going to auditions, and filming application tapes... it's great."

"What about your demo tapes?" Paloma asked. "You have such a good voice. Any record company would be stupid to turn you down."

Santana froze. Between the aborted modeling attempts, waitressing job, constant auditions, _and_ her PR angle via bearding, she'd completely forgotten about music as one potential path to greatness. "I have Brit running my tapes all around town," she lied. She needed to get into a studio ASAP and record some samples, Santana thought, and bit her lip.

"So you and Brittany _are_ still together," Paloma said carefully.

"We're friends, Mom. I told you, we're just here as friends." Santana forced her teeth apart before she nibbled off a sliver of her lip. "I'm actually dating someone. You might have seen his commercials? I can't remember if they air back home, but I see them out here."

"Wait, wait. His commercials?"

"He's gorgeous. And nice, and really supportive of my career." Which was all true. It left out Cooper's significant pile of negatives, but those positives were all true. "His name's Cooper. You'd like him."

"I don't understand. You were dating... I mean, I thought you were...." Paloma went quiet. "I thought you and Brittany were dating. I didn't make that up, did I? I mean... we had the talk, and I said I loved you. Which I do! I love you no matter who you're dating."

Why couldn't anyone just understand that she was doing all of this _for_ Brittany? Santana's muscles knotted. "So, then, it's not a problem that I'm dating Cooper," she challenged.

"Of course not," Paloma said. "Just so long as you're happy, sweetie. Are you happy?" 

"I'm super happy. I love it here. You'd like it better than New York, too. You hate the cold, right? And they don't even have to put air conditioners in the windows. They're all in the walls, or it's central air."

"They have earthquakes, though," Paloma said dubiously.

"Well, one hasn't hit yet," Santana said, but her laughter fell flat. "Mom, I promise. I'm okay. I'm better than okay. Everything's going exactly to plan, I'm networking, and I live just down the hall from my very best friend. My life is fantastic."

"Well... I'm glad to hear that," Paloma said, although it sounded more like relenting than acceptance. "I'll put together your care package for you soon, all right, sweetie? Is there anything special you want in it?"

Santana smiled and rubbed a lock of hair between her fingers. She knew exactly what she wanted, from the simple days before Los Angeles, or even before that government school. Before painful locker room conversations at her public high school, where the other girls knew to keep Santana on the periphery for reasons that Santana hadn't even identified. "You know how when I was little, you'd buy a variety bag of candy from that shop on the corner, even though you were supposed to keep the bulk stuff in its own bags?"

Paloma laughed. "I do! They might actually make me buy it in separate bags, but I'll mix it all together before I send it to you. Oh, you loved that when you were a little girl. Every piece was different... it was like you'd gone out trick or treating." Her voice dripped with nostalgia, and it sounded like tears might soon follow. "Well, okay. I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing. And call me whenever you want to talk. About work, or, you know... about Brittany...."

"Thanks, Mom," Santana said. It sounded like a closing door.

"Well. Okay. I love you, baby."

"I love you too, Mom." Santana stared at the phone for a long time after she thumbed off the call, and then curled up for an hour to watch whatever was on. Brittany only had a morning shift. She should be done soon, Santana thought as she checked the time at the end of the second show, but the perfect July day still beckoned. Winds had rolled in off the ocean and the smog was starting to clear out. If she went outside, though, she'd probably end up gone for hours, and she owed Brittany a prompt greeting upon getting home. Santana took a shower instead, and knocked on Brittany's door with wet hair.

"Come in."

"How was work?" Santana asked as she stepped inside, and froze.

"Work was fun." Brittany nearly pranced over to the source of Santana's surprise and held up a half-grown grey kitten. It was teenager-gangly and had eyes as blue as hers. "I got him from the shelter last night while you were gone, and I bought him a litter box and food and toys. Then we watched a movie and we talked about you."

Santana shifted uncomfortably at the idea of Brittany analyzing her, even to a cat. "What's its name?"

"The Truman Show was on and he really liked it, so I named him after that."

"So, Truman."

"No." Brittany scratched her new kitten under his chin. "I said I named him after the movie. He's The Truman Show."

"Oh." Santana closed the door behind her before the kitten could get out, or someone saw him in there. She wasn't sure whether animals were allowed under their lease. "I didn't know you'd been thinking about getting a cat."

Brittany shrugged and sat on her futon. The Truman Show purred contentedly in her lap. "Sometimes I get lonely. Cats are nice because they don't judge you for licking your own butt."

Santana eyed her.

"I don't actually do that, but trying to get to a place where I _could_ is like really intense yoga practice." Brittany scratched her kitten. "And I try to keep in practice and stay limber, because I want to do dance auditions soon. Maybe I could be famous, instead of you."

Oh god, it was an awkward conversation. Santana hated those. "Well, I was just wondering...." The conclusion to the question died unspoken in Santana's throat: _how you felt about dropping me off at my fake boyfriend's house?_ She cleared her throat and tried again. "I was wondering if you'd braid my hair. With really thin pieces, you know? It looks cute when it dries like that."

"Sure, sit in front of me," Brittany said, and pulled her feet up under her. As her nimble fingers began to thread Santana's damp hair together, Santana could feel the occasional tugging pressure of kitten claws latching onto the tempting strands. If The Truman Show scratched her neck, she and that cat were going to have _words_.

"I talked to my mom earlier," Santana said as Brittany worked. "And I totally forgot that I need to do demo tapes. Um, you have the car. Do you think maybe, if I get some tapes made, you could drive them around to record companies?" She smiled, hoping that Brittany would see the curves of her cheeks from where she sat behind Santana. 

"Yeah, sure," Brittany said. Her fingers tugged harder than they had before.

"Ow. Careful."

"Sorry." Her fingers went back to work. "Why did we have to move out here if we don't even get to be together?" Brittany asked when she finished Santana's braid, and tied it neatly off. "You could be famous in New York."

Why was _everyone_ bitching at her about this today? "New York is for theatre people and extras on Law  & Order. And I don't even know if they're doing that any more." Santana turned and clasped Brittany's hands between hers. "I want to give you a bigger life than I could get from... doing commercials or a soap opera that's about to shut down New York production, anyway. Okay?"

"I just want you," Brittany said. "I don't care if we live in a tent on the beach."

"You deserve better than this studio, Brittany," Santana told her as sincerely as she knew how. "You deserve better than a tent on the beach. You need your own castle with a dance studio and stables and a swimming pool and everything."

Brittany looked down, and seemed resigned when she met Santana's eyes again. "Can I do one of those pictures on the bottom of the pool?"

When Santana was famous, she'd hire whoever the world's most expensive mosaic artist was to do that picture for Brittany. "Yeah, totally. Whatever you want."

"Can it be a gigantic picture of my face with a speech bubble saying 'I would have totally taken the tent?'"

Santana froze, and squeezed Brittany's hands until she could think of anything more to say. "I need to go. I have an audition to prep for, and I need to get you that pool." The Truman Show purred on Brittany's lap as Santana stood. Brittany scratched her cat's ears rather than seeing Santana out. Stale heat and the clamor of the city surrounded Santana when she opened the door; someone had propped the far exit open again, despite the pleading note from their landlord. Maybe she would go outside, after all, and study her lines on the beach. The music pouring from passing cars sounded better than the aching echo in her room. "You're the most important thing in my life. You know that, right?"

"I don't think I am," Brittany said with a smile that broke Santana's heart, "but thanks for saying so."

* * *

As the widescreen, high-definition television played a parade of muted images, Puck stared blankly at the wall beyond them. His mind was a blur, his memories untrustworthy. What had felt like being mildly drunk last night had solidified into the strangest hangover ever as morning dawned, and the entire world felt like it was trying to claw its way inside his skull.

He really thought he might be losing it. 

The upside was that whatever he was feeling had to have come from that girl's crazy staff, and so there was a distinct cause that could be addressed. The downside was that he felt like he needed to be locked up in the meantime.

Sometimes the world felt right: he was Noah Puckerman, recent high school graduate and permanent badass. The world would have been his for the taking, if not for that looming war that had every kid his age at least a little bit on edge. One of his best friends was in London, he was (maybe) living with the second friend in Los Angeles, and he'd had a falling out with the third. He didn't know exactly what he wanted to do with his life, but he'd work hard, make money, and hopefully fall into a bed full of L.A.'s hottest women each night.

Other times, though, the world felt wrong. He'd catch sight of a headline or hear words on the radio, and it was like he'd stood up too quickly and the room was tilting around him. Putin and Obama needed to put away their dicks before they waved them any more, because war wasn't in the cards. Rachel shouldn't be in London, and he'd already found a good job, hadn't he?

The worst part of everything was the deja vu. It wasn't just that he sometimes remembered another world; he remembered _remembering_ another world, and that was getting into some Inception-level _we need to go deeper_ shit that he was not prepared for. It was like there was some huge story waiting to be peeled back, but it felt like it might take the entire world with it if that story was told.

 _No,_ Puck thought unhappily as he heard a lilting voice carry through a door. _That's not the worst part._

Just like the world sometimes looked wrong, Puck sometimes saw Kurt and he looked way too damn right. 

Everything he'd told Kurt the previous day had been true: he did like Kurt as a friend, he was impressed by the job he'd landed, and he did think Kurt was hot. Not only did Kurt fall into that narrow niche labeled 'dudes that Puck finds attractive,' but he'd pretty much carved it out by himself. If Kurt was ever up for it, Puck wanted to find out what anal felt like; it was supposed to be unbelievably tight, and all of the (girl) ass he'd hit in New York had practically slapped him when he'd proposed the idea. Until then, Kurt had one of the prettiest sets of lips that Puck had ever seen, and even though he knew that it sounded like some bad prison movie, he really wanted to learn what those lips looked like when they were stretched around his cock.

That was his normal state of being, and what he'd been like ever since they'd shared that first kiss at Tina's party. But now, Puck was caught off guard by looking at Kurt and just _hurting._ He didn't want Kurt's mouth on him; he wanted to be the one sucking and stroking until his name was called out like a prayer. He wanted to feel his heart leap like a startled rabbit every time Kurt smiled at him in that way that scrunched up his entire face. He even wanted to feel Kurt driving into him and feeling like that was... home.

Something was really fucking wrong.

Noah Puckerman did not take it up the ass.

And he was not in love with Kurt Hutton.

He could tell himself that all he liked, but somehow, he still wound up walking quietly up to Kurt's closed door and eavesdropping on his conversation beyond. In the middle of these dizzying surges, he wanted nothing more than to hear Kurt's voice. No; he didn't want to hear Kurt's voice, he _needed_ to. Those syllables were like some limited, precious commodity that might run out. That idea was ridiculous. Kurt never shut up.

 _He's talking about me,_ Puck realized when he got used to the muffled sounds through the door, and his heart leapt again. He wanted to slap it down.

Kurt said, "Really, Puck just showed up at my door out of nowhere."

"He didn't even call first?" That sounded like Rachel, probably through laptop speakers.

"It's Puck. Of course he didn't call first."

"Good point."

Puck frowned. What did they mean by that?

Kurt was quieter when he spoke up again. Puck could barely hear him. "And then that night, he... I thought he liked me or something. He started, um, touching me."

"Really?" Rachel paused. "Wait. How far had you two gone before?"

"Only as far as I'd told you. This was much more intense than anything that happened back home." Oh, of course he'd reported everything they'd done to Rachel. Puck couldn't even be bothered to roll his eyes. "It was... well, to make a long story extremely short, I have a mark on my chest from _him_ and I don't know how long I'll have to walk around with this stupid thing on me."

"Did you two actually...?"

"No! God, no. Ugh." Kurt's voice shuddered and Puck's shoulders pulled in on themselves. The raw disgust in Kurt's voice was painful, like some vicious attack that somehow slipped past the walls of Puck's ego. "But he wanted to. Because that was going to be how he'd _pay_ me for staying in my apartment rent-free. He didn't tell me that part until I'd pushed him off me, though."

"You didn't have to push me off," Puck muttered to himself. "You told me to stop and I stopped." 

"I feel so humiliated," Kurt said. "I just think about it and I want to cry. I thought something huge was happening and it was all a big joke to him. Like I was a punchline. He kept apologizing, but I know it was just so I wouldn't throw him out." He snorted." I tried to do that, actually."

Was this really where Kurt's mind had landed after a night to think about everything that had happened? Puck felt like he might be sick. It was as if his heart had a chokehold on his stomach and was squeezing it until bile crept up his throat. He'd hurt Kurt that badly? _I don't want to hurt you,_ Puck thought intently, and the world tilted again. He closed his eyes and hoped that things would steady, and that the crazy aftereffects of last night's adventure would leave him viewing Kurt Hutton as a friend and absolutely nothing more.

Rachel sounded both sympathetic and amused. How could the two of them have no idea that Puck was listening to them and feeling heartsick at every word? "Let me guess: but you couldn't actually throw him out?"

"He's very _solid._ " Kurt sighed. "Later, he followed me to the grocery store and I nearly walked into a bunch of masks fighting on the street. I didn't even notice the fireballs; that's how out of it I was. Now he's probably saved my life, so I guess I really have to let him stay. But every time I look at him, I just...."

"Give it some time, okay?" Rachel said. "We're friends and Noah is... well, we all know how he is."

Puck scowled at the door. Wait. How was he?

"But he cares about you," Rachel continued. "And besides, you needed a new roommate anyway, right?" She tittered. "At least you know that Noah won't pull out a very expensive baggie of something bad while you're trying to cook dinner."

"That is true. If nothing else, Puck definitely won't get me arrested for being an accessory to drug possession. I guess you're right."

Did that mean that Kurt wasn't kicking him out? Progress. And yeah, he'd have to make sure that he didn't bring anything into the apartment. It wasn't like he'd done anything hard—just occasional weed—but he'd stay totally clean, now. How quickly could he find a job, if he started looking tomorrow? He was young, strong, and good-looking; even in the midst of people's paranoia, there had to be _something_ open. He had to be able to give rent money to Kurt _somehow._

_I'm going nuts,_ Puck thought, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. He felt like some child desperately craving approval. What had that bitch with the staff done to him?

Kurt started talking about Rachel's fortunes in London, and Puck backed away before either heard him there. "This is bullshit," he said as he paced a diagonal across the oversized living room. The world felt mostly steady again: war was coming, and that was normal. Puck had lived in New York and now Los Angeles, and nowhere else should resonate. But, no matter whether the walls around him felt sturdy or like some mirage in the California desert, these stupid, _inconvenient_ feelings about Kurt stayed firmer through each fresh cycle.

 _Oh god. This is it. This is what the songs talk about._ Puck ran his hands over his head and sped his pace. He was actually in love, a feeling he'd never encountered before.

It sucked.

His heart didn't just have a grip on his stomach: it numbed his toes and made his skin tingle. The memories of Kurt's criticism came back sharp like a slap to the face, and Puck cringed. This was horrible. When had he turned into someone who would flinch over anything that anyone said to him? He didn't back down when someone shouted insults to his face, nor when someone waved a fist in it. But all of a sudden, after he'd gotten hit by that light from that crazy bunch of kids with their pet dinosaur, it was like Kurt had Puck's balls in his hand and could squeeze at any second.

Laughter echoed through Kurt's door, and Puck crept over to eavesdrop again. "Maybe I will go out to a club again, I don't know," Kurt said. "I don't know if I even liked them that much, but at least I can remind myself that there are other men in this city."

"If Noah likes you," Rachel said, "I mean... you don't _have_ to, but you could at least consider him? You know that he has your best interests at heart. That's more than you can say for any stranger."

"But now I can't say that," Kurt said sadly. "Now, I don't know for sure whether he looks at me and sees the boy he used to talk to about our families, or just... free room and board. I guess things change when you're on your own."

"Being an adult sucks."

"Tell me about it." Kurt made a noise that sounded like a door opening. His closet, maybe? "It's settled. I _will_ go out tonight, and walk into that room and know that there are a whole lot of fish out there and I am right next to the ocean. It'll be a nice little dose of hope, and after nearly getting killed and _still_ not having the rest of my rent check, I could use a little hope." Hangers rattled on their rod. "With any luck, hope won't be too sweaty. It's the worst part of those clubs."

A darkened room flashed across Puck's vision. The cavernous space was filled with shirtless men all as lithe as Kurt but far more forward. They'd come dancing up to him in the dim lights, strobed by occasional flashes, and move their hands down his chest and toward the waistband that Kurt had pushed Puck away from. In one second they were pushing too hard, and Kurt's innocent face was flushed with mounting concern over what was happening. In the next everything was wanted, and Kurt arched under the anonymous man's touch and let himself be led into the dark corners of the club. 

Puck's heart squeezed his stomach again, as hard as his fists had suddenly clenched. He forced his hands open and then drew in deep breaths until the world stopped spinning.

He had to fix this. Now.

He had to find that dinosaur.


	3. Into Focus

An hour spent playing with a kitten could cheer just about anyone up. By the end of their session, when The Truman Show's gangly adolescent body was sprawled carelessly in a sunbeam, Brittany was left scratched but smiling. 

In the good times, it was easy to believe that Santana's big plans would all work out. They were headed for fame, fortunate, a house in the hills, and a happily ever after. It was just hard to remember those feelings when she was dropping off Santana with the man she was pretending to date, because Brittany wasn't the right person at the right time for the career Santana wanted.

_Oh, look. There goes my good mood again._

They should be out walking on the beach together, Brittany thought unhappily as she flopped onto her futon and hung her chin over its edge. When Santana's hair dried under the bright summer sun, Brittany should be the one to pull it free and soften the tight waves with her fingers. They should be buying food off sidewalk vendors and feeding bits of it to each other. Instead, Santana would soon be off at yet another audition, and it probably wasn't even at some major studio. Not on a Saturday.

"Do you want to go for a walk in your harness?" Brittany asked The Truman Show, and wiggled his leash at him. "At least you won't care if I pet your hair where people can see it."

The Truman Show raised his head, blinked sleepily, and yawned. His tongue was a pink curl, and then he shut his mouth and laid his head back down. No, he probably didn't want to go for a walk.

A tinny clip of On The Floor started playing and Brittany reached for her phone. "Brittany Susan Pierce, who's speaking, please?"

"Awesome, I found you. Quinn didn't know if this was still your number."

There was no mistaking that voice paired with those words. "Puck? What's wrong? Did Mike take out Finn for stealing his woman? Because honestly, I think we could all see that one coming."

Puck was silent for a long beat. "Why does it sound so fucking _weird_ that Finn is dating Tina? No, no! I'm in L.A."

Brittany sat up straight. "You're in L.A.? That's so great! You have to come over and meet my cat."

"What?"

"I have a cat."

"Uh, awesome. Anyway, can I talk to you?"

"I already told you that you could," Brittany said. "Because you're going to come over and meet my cat."

"Right." Puck breathed heavily into the phone. "That... actually might be a good idea, to head to your place. I'm trying to give Kurt space. I pissed him off, and he kinda forgave me because I saved him from getting fried by a giant fireball, but he's still giving me that bitchface."

"Yeah, his face is super bitchy." Her hand closed on something and retrieved it, and Brittany gnawed on the licorice rope she'd discovered. "What fireball?"

"I don't know, typical asshole villain stuff. Hey, can I see you, like, right now? I need to talk to someone who knows what... well, reality should feel like." Puck went quiet for a second. "Actually, never mind. Is Santana around?"

"No."

"Damn. Okay, I guess you're fine."

Brittany frowned, and then shrugged. "What's your address? I'll come pick you up." He said it—a place not too far west of Downtown—and Brittany's nose wrinkled. She didn't know Los Angeles as well as the city she'd left, but that didn't sound like a great area. "Okay, be there soon."

"Thanks. How long, do you think? I'll wait out on the sidewalk so you don't have to knock. I'm guessing Kurt wouldn't be happy if I invited people over without asking."

"About thirty minutes, maybe?" She nodded at his assent. "Okay, bye." Brittany busied herself with tidying her studio before she left it, so The Truman Show wouldn't get into anything dangerous in her absence. It was too easy to let her home fall into a mess. The space was tiny and she'd brought too much from home. By the time Brittany left she was glad for the generous leeway she'd set, and she was still a few minutes late when she pulled up to the curb and stopped for Puck. 

"Hey, thanks," Puck said as he slid in.

"Hey!" Brittany said, holding out her arms. He blinked at her and she wiggled her hands. "We haven't seen each other for months. Hug me!"

Puck obligingly reached over and hugged her. "Yeah, sure. Can we go before Kurt sees?"

"Calm down, he's like the least scary person I know," Brittany said as they set into motion. "Well, except for Tina. And Artie. And Santana's mom." Brittany loved Santana's mom. She smelled like Christmas all year round. "When did you move to L.A.?" The drive back to her place took a full twenty minutes, and so Brittany heard about what his flight was like, how he'd just shown up at Kurt's door yesterday, and even how he'd gotten into a fight before he left New York. "With who?" she asked.

"Finn."

"Oh." That made sense. They spent the most time together, and a lot of their classmates had broken apart after graduation.

"Because he's a loser," Puck muttered, "and so he thinks everyone else is. Do I really have to see your cat?"

"Yes," Brittany said as she pulled around back of her building and into the spot that she and Santana both pitched in to rent. "He's super cute."

After five minutes spent scratching The Truman Show's delicate chin and lanky body, Puck looked ready to admit that her cat might actually be cute. "My mom had a cat when I was little," he said, frowning at the memories. "But she didn't get another one after it died. I guess she was too busy."

"Cats are great. Everyone should have a cat. If everyone had a cat, then there wouldn't be wars, because everyone would be too busy petting them and finding their toys when they knock them under the couch." Somewhere deep in her heart, Brittany knew that World War III wasn't supposed to happen. Even though she didn't pay much attention to it, everyone else seemed worried and kept talking about the idea. It all just sounded wrong and stupid, like it could be so easily avoided. With cats.

"You already had a cat," Puck said suddenly, and pulled his hand away from The Truman Show.

"Huh? No I didn't, unless you mean Santana."

Puck's eyebrows rose.

"Remember how she went as a cat last Halloween?"

"Wow," Puck said. "That's so not where my mind went. But no, I just...." He broke off and stared at the motes of dust dancing a slow waltz inside a sunbeam. "I swear you already had a cat," he said, almost too softly to hear. Voice strong again, Puck turned to her and asked, "Can we go somewhere that's seriously... Los Angeles? I need to remember where I am before I talk to you about this."

"We're in Los Angeles," Brittany reminded him. "All the live TV is tape-delayed and you can find way better Mexican food." She did miss perfect pizza, though. It just wasn't the same.

"No, I mean like... going to fucking Disneyland or something, I don't care. The Hollywood sign. This apartment could be in New York, and I just need to remember... I need to remember."

"Okay," Brittany said uncertainly. She'd already tried one hike to the sign and found it more annoying than anything, and Disneyland was expensive. But Puck was super freaked out about something, and she wanted to help her friends in any way that she could. "I have an idea."

* * *

"I know they have hot dogs and stuff in New York," Brittany said as they walked near the beach, "but they don't have those." The hand holding her cotton candy gestured at a tall, proud line of palm trees.

Puck nodded. Brittany had loaded herself down with vendor food, but he'd limited himself only to a soda to keep his throat wet as he talked. Although Brittany's apartment was close to the beach, she'd driven north toward Santa Monica before parking and leading him toward the sun and sand. The time in the car had given him a chance to let his nerves settle, but they'd only jarred more, instead. "So, uh, that was a nice place." Small talk. Small talk would calm him down.

"Thanks. They're super tiny studios, but we don't have to worry about making rent or anything as long as we get decent hours scheduled." Brittany shrugged and bit off a chunk of churro. "It'll be okay until Santana makes it big. And she promised that she would." Her fingers slid the waxed paper between them, and she looked toward the ocean. "She promised."

"Wait, you were able to find work?" Maybe his fortunes were turning around after all, if he knew two people at a place that was apparently hiring.

"The restaurant likes having hot girls for waitresses, and we're really hot, so."

Damn. "Thanks anyway," Puck muttered. He sipped his coke and wondered how to even broach the subject. How did you tell someone that you weren't sure whether you were going nuts, or whether something was wrong with the world? On second thought, maybe it was better that he was talking to Brittany rather than Santana. Brittany would at least hear him out. Santana would just laugh and tell him to lay off the liquor, or stop eating lead paint chips or something.

Right, then. The best answer had to be simply to go for it. "Okay. Here's the deal." Puck took a deep breath and felt like he was throwing up his next words. "I'm in love with Kurt."

"Aww," Brittany said. "That's cute!"

"No! It's not cute! It's like he has me on a leash and I hate it!" Puck threw his mostly-finished soda into a trashcan and huffed with satisfaction as he heard the liquid splash. "I like him as a friend, but it's just... I can't take this any more. I woke up this morning and I was thinking about him. I spent all morning wanting to know what he was doing. It's more important for him to smile than me, even though I just moved across the freaking country and don't have a job lined up while he's some big Hollywood guy." 

Puck's neck rotated like a sprinklerhead as a striking woman with enormous breasts walked past; when his head snapped forward again, his expression was agonized. "And doing that made me feel guilty. I feel guilty for staring at tits that were...." His hands moved helplessly in front of him, trying to communicate the idea of _right on out there, served on a silver platter._

"You shouldn't," Brittany said. "They were really nice."

"I know! They were!" Puck stomped faster and she hurried to catch up. "The reason I feel this way is because some superhero kids were fighting bad guys on the street, and one of them hit me with a crazy spell from her magical stick thing. It all started after that. Before then, I was...." He was able to think of anything besides how it felt like Kurt had lifted Puck's heart neatly out of his chest and placed it into his own. "Normal."

Brittany frowned. "Oh. She hit you with a love spell?"

"Well... yeah, I guess. But I feel like other stuff has changed, too." Puck rolled the world around his mind and waited for any rough edges to poke out. "Like, shouldn't Finn still be dating Rachel?"

"Why? She's trying to be a big star and he's not, and all they do is kiss and fight. I think we all got tired of that whole cycle a while ago, to be perfectly honest."

Puck ran his hand over his mohawk, but froze and forced it back to his side when he remembered Kurt's orders to shave his hair off. He suddenly wanted to grab a razor. Oh _god._ "So, uh, does it feel right for the world to be so fucked up? With war and everything?"

Brittany shrugged. "All politics is local, and so I only pay attention to local politics. A fortune cookie told me that once, and you should always listen to food when it talks to you. I already have my favorite coroner candidate picked out for November."

He tried again. "What about when Quinn posted about getting engaged?" Not three days before he'd moved, Quinn had posted a picture of her cuddled next to her longtime neighbor. A diamond ring glittered on her finger; it was a small chip that someone fresh out of high school could afford. Vince Galati had lived next to Quinn since she was five, she told everyone, and he'd gotten her parents' blessing to pop the question.

"That was weird," Brittany agreed. "She could land someone way cuter."

"That's not what I...." He didn't know how to communicate this, because Puck didn't even know everything that he was trying to say. Quinn had always talked about wanting to get married right out of high school, but somehow Puck knew that she'd changed her mind. Resigned, he decided to just tell everything and hope for the best, because all other words were failing him. "It feels like I'm remembering some other world after what that girl did to me. I don't know if I'm going nuts or if there's actually something I should know. And so I need to find her, to learn what she did."

"Oh," Brittany said, and was quiet for a beat as she thought it over. "Who's 'her?'"

At least Brittany wasn't treating his situation like a joke, just like he'd hoped. Given how Puck was talking about magic spells making him fall in love with Kurt, it would have been easy to laugh him off. Maybe they could actually progress from there. "I have no idea," Puck admitted. "I didn't see her very well, but she sort of reminded me of Tina. She had this big metal stick that she used to cast the spell, and... there was some blond guy...."

"I know you just got here," Brittany said after Puck trailed off. "So maybe you don't know that L.A. has a lot of people in it."

"I know that! There's no way to track the people down just from those descriptions, but the thing was: they had a pet dinosaur. It looked like those really mean and smart ones in Jurassic Park."

"Velociraptors," Brittany said knowingly. "Wow, they really shouldn't have let one into L.A."

"Well, they did, and I might not be able to find those kids, but I should be able to find a goddamn dinosaur. Right?" He waited for her encouragement, and gestured for it when it didn't come.

"Totally," Brittany said. "Except for how there are probably five guys dressed up as dinosaurs right now near the Chinese Theatre." She couldn't sound less concerned about his problems, or at least, less enthused about Puck's chances of overcoming the odds in that sprawling metropolis.

Puck interlaced his hands behind his neck and tried to press out the tension in his muscles by sheer willpower. Another rough edge came to mind, and he tossed it like a Hail Mary. "Whatever this place or... or time is that I'm remembering," Puck said, "I'm positive that Santana proposed to you."

Brittany froze, and nearly tripped over her own feet as she locked into place. "What?"

"I swear I'm not bullshitting you on this. The two of you were gonna get married. I...." Puck pressed on the back of his neck again. "I remember her proposing, so I guess I saw it? Or whatever this chick did to me is making me imagine the two of you hooking up."

Brittany swallowed. All her bravado had fallen away, and the girl who had treated Puck's problems like such a funny game now looked ready to cry. "Really? Santana wanted to be with me?"

"Yeah. Everyone knew about it, too."

They set back into motion, and for a dozen footsteps they walked in silence. Brittany's gaze was sharp and more sober than he was used to from the girl when she asked, "Is this spell making things up in your head, or is there actually some other world or time or whatever that we should know about? Seriously, what does it feel like?"

"It feels like it could be either," Puck admitted. He didn't know what option he wanted.

Brittany walked in silence again for a short bit, and then threw away her half-eaten food like Puck had discarded his soda. Her gaze was a sharp blue knife. "Noah Puckerman, I am going to find you that dinosaur."

Puck grinned.

She marched forward like a soldier with a mission. "And then The Truman Show is going to watch me get back my girl."

* * *

"I'm going out," Kurt said later that evening, when Brittany had returned Puck to what still appeared to be his home. "If you want to head out tonight, then fine. Just wait here by the door until I get back and unlock it at... oh, around two." His eyes roamed up and down Puck like the sight tired him. Puck's gut twisted anew. It wasn't just the dismissal in Kurt's eyes, but how cold and distant he was in almost every minute. Puck loved Kurt, but sometimes this guy didn't even feel like him, as crazy as it sounded. "I guess we'll get a key made for you on Monday, so you don't have to live by my schedule. You'll need one to hunt for a job during the day, anyway."

"I want to come with you," Puck said when Kurt finished.

Kurt turned an icy glare on him. "What?"

"You're going to clubs tonight, right? Well, I want to go with you."

"I didn't tell you where I was going," Kurt said, his eyes narrowing.

_Oh crap. I heard that when I was listening through his door._ "Uh, yeah you did. You just forgot." When that didn't convince Kurt, Puck smiled a little too widely and asked, "How else would I know?"

"You want to go to dance clubs in West Hollywood," Kurt said.

"Yeah, sure."

"Clubs filled with men."

Puck gestured at Kurt as proof that he wouldn't mind.

"You want to go to dance clubs in West Hollywood," Kurt repeated, "instead of dance clubs anywhere else in the city, that are filled with women wearing Ace bandages and five-inch heels."

Part of Puck, largely below the waist, thought that sounded fantastic. Some of the most beautiful people in the world migrated to Los Angeles. While most men did nothing for him, he'd never turn down any woman from eighteen to fifty, so long as she didn't have arm flaps or a neck wattle or something. Besides, even though he knew that he was unlikely to find anyone there he was attracted to—'pretty but still masculine, nice smile, limber, no bigger than him, and in good shape' couldn't be too common, even here—Puck knew that he'd only really have eyes for Kurt.

Whatever this spell had done to him, he was so fucking whipped.

"I want to go with you," Puck said.

"But why?" Kurt asked. "I already told you, Puck, I'm not interested in... that." His hand swept to gesture at Puck's groin, but chickened out halfway there and instead ended near Puck's hip.

Inspiration struck. "Because you already nearly got yourself killed once since I've been here," Puck said, "and hey, I just want to be there in case I need to save your life again."

Clearly, the blow landed exactly where he wanted it to: right in the guilt trip that Kurt had earlier admitted to Rachel that he was feeling. Although Puck didn't know how long he could keep using that as a tool, it did its job that night. "Fine," Kurt said. "You can help cover cab fare. Do you even have any money?"

"Some." Not much, though. Maybe he could ask Brittany about that restaurant, and see if they cared about hiring hot male servers, too. He might have written it off too quickly. Puck was pretty sure that he could be a waiter. He liked food.

"All right," Kurt relented. "Pick a better outfit than what you're wearing, and I'll let you know when I'm heading out."

* * *

Saturday night in midsummer was a busy time and the lines leading out of the clubs were long. Cars cruised up and down Santa Monica Boulevard, filling the air with a heavy scent of exhaust that warred with cologne and faint sweat. Neon names around them seemed hostile: Rage, Revolver, Factory. The bouncers were a good deal thicker and taller than Puck, the passengers shouting from passing cars seemed to think the party had already started outside, and the men in line were sizing each other up as they waited.

Puck was wrong, earlier: West Hollywood was filled with exactly the slim niche of guys that he found attractive. But, just like when he'd stared at that woman near the beach, even glancing at a guy's narrow waist or skintight jeans made him feel like he was cheating on some relationship that didn't even exist.

Puck caught Kurt looking longingly at a group of girls, even in the midst of all those men. _Man, if Kurt's cool with those bachelorette party chicks crashing gay dude territory, he must be missing his friends back home more than I thought._ Kurt had always gotten along more easily with Rachel than either him or Finn, and later with Mercedes and Tina. He probably wished that one of them had stopped by out of the blue to be his new roommate, instead of Puck.

Or maybe he just looked unhappy because this whole scene could not be further from what Kurt Hutton wanted out of life. Puck didn't think it was entirely out of the question that Kurt could meet someone and be swept away by one perfect romantic evening, but that'd happen at a fancy restaurant with wood on the walls and a piano player, or some art gallery opening with paintings that looked like really expensive oil spills.

As soon as Puck asked the question of why Kurt was there, he knew the answer. Los Angeles was a huge city and there were probably plenty of those fancier places that Kurt would like. Kurt had just moved there, though, and so he hadn't been out much. Until he could explore more, he had no idea where those perfect hideaways might be. Kurt was finally able to tell the truth about himself during every second of every day, and the easiest L.A. shorthand for gay pride was this stretch of clubs in West Hollywood. In theory, this was what Kurt was launching himself toward when he moved away from his father.

Kurt didn't want this scene, but some part of him felt like he had to do it.

"Hey," Puck asked when he saw Kurt looking at the girls again. One of them looked like Rachel, if he squinted. "Have you talked to Finn much?" Saying Finn's name sort of made him want to punch things after how they'd parted ways, but that didn't mean that Kurt hated his brother.

"Not much," Kurt said, and zeroed in on Puck. Puck was glad to see his eyes come into sharper focus than they'd been while staring at those girls, or at the meat market around them. Plus, he seemed happy to talk to Puck himself, and that was a huge positive. "I mean, I love him and all, but I just... I wanted to be really great before I told him everything."

_I want to beat him, for once,_ Puck heard.

"Yeah, cool, sure. He was worried about you."

Kurt's stare sharpened. It was definitely true: compared to what he _should_ be like, Kurt was hard-edged and brittle. Anything could set him off and he had everything to prove. Puck couldn't blame him for that, he supposed, but it just didn't sit right on his memories. "Why? Didn't he think I could make it out here?"

"Dude, no, that wasn't it. You lived in the same room for eighteen years and now he doesn't get to talk to you much, is all." Even though Puck was still mad at Finn, getting the brothers together seemed suddenly more important. "Anyone would be worried."

"All right," Kurt relented, and then they were to the door. Puck offered his own money for the cover charge, even though looking at his rapidly-emptying wallet made him wince. Coming here tonight had been a bad idea on every logical level.

Walking inside was a slap of music, darkness, and the scent of hundreds of bodies. Around the perimeter of the club's long rectangle, the crowd was lighter, except at the bar. Near the center, where the dance floor sat, it was a crush of humanity. Some men were dancing casually, like they were little more than sightseers, but others looked like they were acting out the Kama Sutra. Puck swallowed, startled. Dance clubs like this had never really been his thing; bubbly techno music made his eardrums itch. Still, he was pretty sure that as far as clubs went, this had to be on the extreme side of the scale. Right?

"I'm going to get a drink," Kurt said. "It's hot in here." Puck looked over to say something, but Kurt had already slipped into the crowd. Puck's heart seized until he caught sight of him again and tracked Kurt's trip to the bar. After giving Kurt enough time to clear out, so that he wouldn't think Puck was following him, Puck got something of his own. Kurt was right; it was a sauna. With his drink in hand, Puck looked around again for the flash of pale skin over deep purple, and prayed that he could find Kurt again in the darkness.

There. Kurt had found an emptier spot near a support beam and was idly shimmying to the music without any particular rhythm or purpose. A group had claimed the center of the dance space for their own, and they were good; _really_ good, to match the very best dancers that he'd ever seen in New York. As they spun and leapt, Kurt sipped his drink and watched the way the dancers could bend in seemingly inhuman ways and stay on balance when it seemed like they should fall. 

Except for a few quick glances at them, Puck watched Kurt. It was so weird how his brain warred against itself. Part of Puck's mind could identify all the flaws that he'd noticed in Kurt from the very first time they'd met. It had taken him years to decide that Kurt's nose worked with his face instead of overwhelming it, because he'd seen few people with such a sharp profile. His hairline was sort of weird and pointy, made all the more obvious when he wore it off his forehead. But the rest of him wondered how he'd ever thought Kurt was anything but perfect, with those sky-high cheekbones and eyes that looked like special effects. Fuck. It was like he had beer blinders on and the bartender had only served him a Coke.

Puck was so deep into considering this split in his mind, and the club was so dim, that it took him a few beats to notice the guy who'd come up next to Kurt. He frowned. It was difficult to see from across the club, made harder by the guy's dark features against the dark room. He mostly saw his teeth when the guy laughed or talked, and the way his torso moved under his pale shirt. _At least he's got a shirt on,_ Puck thought. Some of the men in the club wore only sweat above their waistbands.

Skin as pale as Kurt's seemed to collect what little light there was. It was easy to see the way his head tilted into their conversation, how his eyebrows raised and he smiled, or when he put his hand lightly against his own cheekbone in that way that said _I'm not trying to brag, even though I'm totally bragging._ He had to be talking about his job. It would impress almost anyone in their city. 

The guy leaned in. Puck scowled and worked around a few bodies to get a bit closer. When he was once again at an angle to see them, they were watching the twisting bodies on the dance floor as Stranger Guy whispered something right into Kurt's ear. _The club's loud,_ Puck thought as a speedy dance remix blared of an already poppy, obnoxious song. If the guy wanted Kurt to hear him, he'd have to be that close.

_Hey, I just met you_

The guy's pale shirt moved, and the angle of his sleeve made it look like his arm might be on Kurt's hip. Compared to everything going on elsewhere in the club, it was nothing. But it was everything. 

_And this is crazy_

Kurt looked down in surprise, and laughed that nervous laugh of his. He looked torn between going with whatever was happening and reasserting his boundaries.

_But here's my number_

The guy's shoulders started swaying back and forth like he was dancing to the music. Puck couldn't tell whether the lower half of his body was decently far or pressing in, but he did see Kurt's hand moving down to his like it was too much, and he wanted it off his hip, now. Puck launched into action and pushed the people between him and Kurt aside, and was in the guy's face before he really knew that his feet were in motion. "Leave him alone."

Kurt stared at him mutely. His eyes were the reflected colors of the lights along the small performance stage.

"Dude, we were just dancing," the guy said. Up close, Puck could see him clearly: smaller than he'd expected, with more delicate features. That reality lasted about two seconds before his heart overrode his mind, and this stranger was back to being the intimidating monster who'd been ready to push Kurt up against the support beam that was suddenly a dead end.

"Like hell you were. Do you always go for the fucking gold with someone you've just met?"

"Puck, stop it," Kurt said in a low, tense voice.

"Look, man, I didn't want to start anything," the guy said, and held up his hands and started backing away. "You guys obviously know each other, and I thought he was single."

"I am single," Kurt said, but it was a lost cause. His would-be dance partner had already vanished into the crowd. Kurt stared after him for a long beat, and then stormed toward the bar in a huff. He slammed his drink on it, muscling aside the waiting patrons, and angled for the door. Puck hurried after him. The comparatively cooler air outside cleared his head just in time to realize that Kurt was furious, now.

"What gives you the right to just swoop in and try to rescue me when I don't want to be _rescued?_ " Kurt asked. Heads in the waiting line swiveled in their direction. 

"I could see it in your eyes, Kurt, you were freaking out! I was just trying to help!"

"You are not my knight in shining armor, Puckerman! One night doesn't make you a hero, and I'm not some weakling who needs you, despite what you seem to think!" Kurt flung his hands angrily apart. "Fine. I nearly got caught in a fight yesterday. I did that because you were around, distracting me."

"But you do need me around," Puck said before he could help himself.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Why? To not pay rent with a job you don't think you'll find?"

"No. I mean, I'm gonna try to find a job. I really am. I know you need the money, and I'll get it for you." Puck breathed deeply. Exhaust felt like it was scouring his lungs, and emotions had burned away his mind and all logic. He was entirely on the autopilot of whatever that girl had done to him. "You're lonely, and I... now you don't have to be lonely. Because I'm here, and I can you know, be there for you."

"Like you were there for me on the couch," Kurt said darkly. "You listened to me about _one_ part of my life, Puck. Before that, we were the odd men very out whenever the four of us got together. Let's not go crazy and pretend you were my own personal Dr. Phil."

"You want to be serenaded," Puck said suddenly. Memories, whether constructed or real, pushed against his lips like people trying to escape a burning building. "You want a guy to put everything he feels into a song and catch you off guard with it, and you'll blush if other people look at you but you'll never take your eyes off him." 

"You know I've been doing voice lessons for years," Kurt said, although under his tight voice there was a thin film of uncertainty. "You know I've gone to Broadway shows. That's not exactly a stretch."

"You want to watch bad TV on normal days, and fun old movies when things go wrong. 'Old' can be anything from when you were a kid to... to whenever they started making movies." Puck swallowed. "Except when someone insults your taste, and then you want to watch stuff that I don't understand and I don't think you do, either, but it makes you feel like you're all fancy and smart."

Kurt said nothing. His lips were thin and pale.

"You want a big car and a lawn because it's not like living with your dad, and all the nice clothes that he wouldn't buy you. But you don't know that you'd actually be happy with a condo that's back in New York, because you could call a car service and Central Park would basically be your front lawn. You like big fluffy bathrobes and you always try to buy eggs where the chickens get to go outside and have recess. You want to be treated like you're special, and like the guy wouldn't pick anyone else in the world. You told Finn you were gay when you were both in bed and he was ready to fall asleep."

"Stop," Kurt said. "I never told you that."

"And you want a guy who's nice to you. Who doesn't screw things up. Who makes you think that he's better because he knows you, and that he can't believe how lucky he is. Who doesn't—" Puck's brain clicked into gear, and he managed to bite his tongue before he finished telling Kurt that Kurt didn't want a guy who assumed that he was some stereotype of a bitchy, girly bottom just because of how he sounded or looked. Relieved by that near disaster, it took Puck a beat to see that Kurt was beyond frightened.

"Why are you obsessing over me like this?" Kurt asked, and took a step back.

Suddenly aware of their audience, Puck realized in a second that if he looked like a threat, Kurt was going to have a lot of human shields, and he might get back to that apartment and not ever let him back inside. The thought of being locked out from Kurt sent him into a blind panic like a man drowning, and Puck almost shouted, "That creepy Asian chick hit me with a spell from her weird magical stick!"

Though everyone else looked anywhere from bemused to concerned at the sudden topic change, it finally cut through Kurt's fear.

"It felt like I was hungover all that night," Puck said. "And then I woke up and I guess it had time to settle in."

"She did hit you with a spell," Kurt said slowly. "I did... I did see that."

"And I'm sorry if I've been acting weird, but it made me feel like... it's felt like I'm in love with you. Okay? Sorry."

Lines of consideration etched between Kurt's eyebrows.

"It just started then. Last night. So I've kinda been out of things all day."

A nervous smile worked its unsteady way onto Kurt's face. "Oh. It's not real. It's only... okay."

"It's the spell," Puck said shakily. "Sometimes it kind of takes over and things feel too real. Sorry. That happened when I saw that guy putting the moves on you." As he said his next words, it felt like his heart was being ripped out with a wet sucking noise, his chest left bare to all the colder air that could rush in to fill it. "It's not real. I don't really love you. I'll stop."

Kurt looked to the side, clearly searching for a response.

"I'll lock myself into my room and you can lock yourself into yours, and I just... I won't talk to you unless you talk first, if that's what you want. Sorry. I'm trying to get this figured out and fixed, and everything's going to be fine." Puck risked taking a step forward and was relieved when Kurt didn't back away. "It's just been a day since that hit me. Give me a little time to adjust?"

After a long, considering pause, Kurt nodded. The bouncer saw the change in dynamic and called over, "Hey, you all right to go with him?"

"He's fine," Kurt called back. "Thank you." His gaze snapped to Puck and held a silent warning: _don't make me a liar about that._ "I don't know how we'll find them," Kurt said as he led Puck to a spot away from the waiting line and thumbed some app on his phone for a new cab. "But I saw what all of that group looked like, and they were right near home. It has to be possible, somehow."

"Thanks for putting up with me," Puck said. "I mean, ever since I got here. Not just tonight."

Kurt looked at him. Armor warred with openness, and to Puck's delight, the brittle shell over his expression melted a little. "I would really like to have a friend in this city," he admitted. "And if you got hurt or something by that girl because you were saving me, then I owe it to you to fix this. So if you're really fine with us just being friends, and are going to keep a firm leash on yourself until your brain starts acting normally again...."

Puck nodded. His head felt ready to pop off, or possibly dispense Pez. Noah Puckerman the would-be rescuer apparently pissed Kurt off, but Noah Puckerman the poor spell victim was in need of help. Fine. Whatever kept things steady between them, he'd go along with, and hope that each day would be better than the one before. "I talked to Brittany earlier today," he added as they waited. Taxis kept driving by, but they'd likely already been dispatched to other clients.

"Oh?" Kurt replied. His tone was unreadable.

"I wanted to get someone else's opinion on whether the world seemed right, since... well, it seemed like a good idea to give you some space."

"You do learn, after all," Kurt said with a slight smirk.

A hundred things he'd learned about Kurt ran through his mind. Puck bit down on them. Most seemed impossible, anyway; Kurt was strong for the life he'd been given, but he was about a million miles away from 'badass.' (No matter how much that spell-confused part of Puck agreed with the label.) "She's going to help me look for that dinosaur the kids had."

"Oh. Well, that'll be helpful. Thanks, Brittany."

"Yep." Deciding not to push his luck, Puck left it at that and waited in silence until the cab arrived. Each second that passed solidified their cease-fire, and even if Kurt was still clearly wary of the spell-addled Puck, he was more than willing to let him stay close. After everything, Puck would take that as a victory. He barely looked at Kurt on the drive home, and he paid the entire fare with the scraps in his wallet. 

"We'll get you fixed, Puck," Kurt said as they ascended the stairs.

"I'll get a job."

"Dare to dream," Kurt said as he unlocked the door and let them back inside. It was beyond stuffy, and Puck saw why when Kurt went to the thermostat and adjusted the air conditioning that he'd let idle while they left. That must be part of his typical routine; saving even the tiny bit of money from running less electricity while he was gone.

"I'm really going to find a job," Puck promised.

"I hope you do," Kurt said. "I really hope you do, because I do not want to move again. I'll ask around some stores tomorrow and see if I get anywhere with those heroes." Hesitating at his doorframe, Kurt's eyes shifted through a dozen different possible emotions before he said simply, "Good night, Puck."

"Night," Puck said, just as the door closed and he heard Kurt turn the lock.

* * *

"Hi," Brittany said on Sunday afternoon, "and welcome to Big Don's Diner!" Her starched pink skirt stood out like some theatrical micro-mini that had made sweet cottony love with a sock hop outfit. The poodle on it was made out of sequins. Her white cotton shirt was tied directly under her breasts, and her hair hung in two perfect spirals from pigtails fastened with actual pink ribbons. She still didn't know where Big Don had found rollerskates that looked like saddle shoes, but they certainly completed the whole ensemble.

"What are your specials?" asked the couple who had to be tourists from somewhere like Idaho or West Dakota. 

"We have the super yummy J. J. Abr-Ham and Grilled Cheese." They needed better names on their menu; that one always tripped her up. "And your dollar-off milkshake can bring _all_ the boys to the yard in chocolate, vanilla, banana, or strawberry!" Brittany smiled and readied her pen to take their order. "And hey, while you guys were sight-seeing, did you notice a dinosaur?"

* * *

"That's a totally cute purse," Brittany lied in a blatant attempt for tips. "Are you maybe carrying a dinosaur in it?"

* * *

"Ooh, you're so big and strong and...." Brittany paused as she considered this man who had yet to take his eyes off her exposed torso. She wasn't sure what else to say about him. "Someone who would totally know about a bunch of kids with dinosaurs."

His mouth opened for a reply, then frowned. He actually met her eyes. "What, like those freaky kids I saw fighting at a gas station?"

Brittany brightened. "Yes! Like them! Where was it?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "Somewhere in Hancock Park, maybe? I thought it was funny to see them there. It felt like a Cypress Park thing."

"That's super helpful," Brittany said, and cocked her hip to one side and leaned forward. "And you should try the fried chicken, because we have the cook in today who actually knows how to make it."

He left a great tip.

Guys like him always did.

* * *

Monday was much of the same, except that Santana had a shift with four hours' overlap. "What are you even doing?" Santana asked Brittany as they both dropped off trays at the same time. The diner was massive; a kitschy, well-established landmark in a part of town that always toed the line between tourist-flooded and just dangerous enough to be exciting. Separated inside that large building, they seldom had chance to talk, but Santana had walked past Brittany on a bathroom break as Brittany quizzed another patron about dinosaurs.

"I have hobbies," Brittany said.

"Dinosaur hobbies."

"Yuh-huh," Brittany said airily, and grabbed a pitcher of ice water for refills. "I have interests. I'm totally deep. You should listen to me more."

"Okay," Santana said, befuddled. "Are you going to be able to run my demo tapes around to record companies? I'll record something this week."

"Sure, whatever," Brittany said, and swanned off to continue quizzing every last person she encountered about any dinosaur sightings. Her hopes weren't high, but by the end of the day, she had another data point: near San Vicente Boulevard. Another week or two like this, and she would totally be able to CSI her way to pinpointing that thing on a map, and next would come unlocking whatever secrets were inside Puck's brain.

In whatever crazy world Puck was imagining, everything sounded perfect. Santana wanted her, was public about it, and they were going to get their happily ever after. Finn apparently wasn't dating Tina, which was a huge bonus for Tina and the world in general, and Puck was apparently hilariously, hopelessly in love with someone who had him wrapped around his manicured little finger. Absolutely everything there sounded wonderful, and she was going to get there through sheer willpower.

In the meantime, tourists actually seemed to like the silly L.A. waitress with a flawless body and a dinosaur obsession. She was 'quirky,' and her tips had never been higher.

Things were looking up for Brittany Susan Pierce.

She was totally going to find room for that mini leather recliner that The Truman Show wanted.


	4. Questions Without Answers

It was a great day to be alive.

Mike Chang whistled an aimless tune as he walked down the sidewalk and felt reflected heat rise against his ankles. It was a whistling sort of morning: the sky was blue, with just the right scattering of puffy white clouds. Children laughed and dogs strained against their leashes. And, in about a month and a half, he would be starting at the school that he still couldn't believe had sent him an acceptance letter: Columbia University, in the field of economics. His parents had never seemed prouder and they weren't stingy with praise.

He scurried a quick path around a dog walker with no fewer than nine small, yappy dogs on her arm, angled past kids debating how much trouble they would get if they opened the fire hydrant like they'd seen in old pictures, and then slowed and stopped as he passed a small city park filled with a knot of teens squaring off in dance.

They were amazing. Their legs moved like a running stream. Mike found his own leg twitching to the rhythm of the music they blasted. _Hit it hard there. Slide there. Fall back there, like the music's going to knock you over. Catch everyone by surprise when you pop back up._

With a sudden flush to his cheeks, he realized a couple of the kids were watching him move. He'd started responding to the music more than he'd intended, and so with grins on their faces, they motioned him in to join the competition circle.

Almost dizzy with the sudden shock of attention, Mike smiled politely, shook his head, and hurried on. Dancing was something done where no one could see him. His parents asked if he wanted lessons, but that was just another chance to fall down where people could watch, wasn't it? He was good at lots of things, after all, and it only made sense to prioritize the things that would make a better living and didn't have an audience laugh behind their hands if he screwed up. A mistake on a math test could be hidden in his backpack.

He hated screwing up. It was hard enough with his parents, even though they told him to stop beating himself up because he was always his worst critic. He was caught in this strange place where he felt like he had to be perfect, but striving to do more and expand his boundaries would only introduce chances to fail. He could be better than he was, but if he tried, he could be worse. Tricky.

In the meantime, Columbia wanted his awesome brain, and he was more than happy to focus on that.

His phone rang and, as he crossed a street at the light, Mike dug it out with a flourish. It was convenient timing to pull him away from his thoughts, and he preemptively thanked whoever had dialed him.

"Artie!" Mike exclaimed as he checked the name and brought the phone to his ear. "Hey, what's up?" If only Artie didn't have at least another semester's worth of material to cover before the school would agree to graduate him, Mike probably could have convinced Artie to go to Columbia with him. Artie Abrams was smart, and so Mike was sure he could get in. Sudden regret swept Mike as he realized that he wouldn't have the friends he'd spent the last four years with, and would now have to meet new people and make good impressions on all of them. Even if he was kind of pissed at some of his so-called friends right now, he'd still rather see Finn and Tina than a bunch of strangers.

"You want to come over?"

A trip out to Queens hadn't been remotely in his plans, but he didn't have anything specific to do that day, and Mike was now struck with the urge to see his old friends while he could. "Sure, sounds great."

"Where are you?"

Mike glanced around. "Uh, close to Broadway and Houston. Why?" There was a shop near there that had called Mike with some requested old jazz recordings. Although he could have ordered online, he liked shopping in real music stores; it was the same appreciation that led him to watch Fred Astaire movies and occasionally add a fedora to his wardrobe. Those albums were in hand now, and it was another positive to that bright summer day.

"Perfect. Can you take some pictures for me on the NYU campus before you come over?"

Laughing, Mike angled uptown and kept walking. "Okay, sure, but why?" He knew any trip was more work for Artie than it would be for Mike, but he had no idea why Artie would even be considering this one. If he was planning to apply there this year, it wasn't like he'd never seen the area before.

"I'll tell you when you get here." Artie rattled off a number of campus locations for Mike to photograph, and Mike dutifully snapped each one before getting on the train.

To his surprise and delight, Mercedes was at Artie's house when he arrived. "Hey, boy," Mercedes said, and pulled him into a hug. "Thanks for venturing outside of Manhattan. You don't usually."

"Sorry," Mike said, abashed. It was true; those of them living there just assumed that their friends would rather come visit them, rather than the other way around. "What's going on, man?" he asked Artie as they rounded the corner into his bedroom.

"Did you bring the pictures?" Artie grinned as Mike emailed them and they appeared on his screen. "Great, thanks."

"Okay," Mike said, and flopped onto Artie's bed. "Now, tell me what I just did."

"Do you know XF Investigations?" Artie asked, bringing up a website. Both Mike and Mercedes shook their heads, and he asked, "X-Factor Investigations?"

"What, like the TV show?" Mercedes asked.

"...No. They're an investigative firm. They run out of Mutant Town." That was the run-down area that had once been known as Alphabet City, and was now crowded with mutants who wanted to find a place that wouldn't judge them just for living. Mike's parents were sympathetic to them, but at the same time, had warned him to steer well clear of the neighborhood.

"Good, because Simon Cowell would be a pretty bad detective," Mike said, and he and Mercedes giggled at each other.

"Anyway," Artie said, "they sometimes post warnings on their site for activity that they want the neighborhood to be careful of. It sounds like no one looks out for the people in Mutant Town, so they have to look out for themselves."

Huh. Sounded like a nice group. Mike leaned forward and took in the faces in one promotional shot: a generic white guy who was probably the leader, a walking slab of muscle that could only be mutation-enhanced, some Latino guy, a gorgeous redhead, and a woman who looked vaguely Arabic and was somehow even more stunning. Props for diversity, he supposed. And for beautiful ladies.

Artie continued, "It sounds like there's some creepy superpowered murderer on the loose in Mutant Town. He just pops up out of nowhere, takes out someone, and vanishes into thin air. Poof." A slightly disturbing gleam moved across his eyes as he continued, "It reminds me of all those documentary series on the worst serial killers."

"You have weird interests," Mercedes said.

"NYU campus?" Mike reminded him.

"Well...." Artie showed them Google Maps on his screen, and a walking path between the area of the attacks and the school's campus. It wasn't far at all. 

With that illustration, Mike suddenly realized the problem. "Quinn."

"Bingo."

Quinn was starting NYU that fall. Although she'd always been a little distant from most of them, there was no denying that the girl could be nice, and had a fragility that had sometimes surfaced when she thought no one was looking. Sometimes she acted forty and like her life was already mapped out, and other times she was ten years old and any decisions were being made for her. 

"I just want to see if I can figure out any patterns," Artie admitted, "because now I'm worried about her."

It was true: Quinn was the sort of person you worried about, even if you didn't always realize it was happening. "What sort of patterns are there?"

"I don't know. That's why I had you photograph all those places, to see if I could figure out any similarities to where the mutants have been killed. They're all places that I think Quinn might spend time at."

Wow. This was actually pretty impressive of Artie, and Mike's brain raced to catch up with all the work and investment he had on the topic. "Why are you paying attention to this when the cops aren't?" Mike asked.

"You kidding?" Mercedes asked. "The cops don't care if mutants get killed. They could see that all of Mutant Town got wiped out and they probably wouldn't even file a police report."

"Bloomberg would probably be happy that it was freed up for new development," Artie added, as cynical as Mike had ever heard.

"Oh," Mike said meekly. 

"Besides," Artie said, and cracked his knuckles. "This is kind of fun, figuring out all the pieces. It's better than just playing Star Trek Online all summer, you know?"

"Definitely. I'm up for it," Mercedes said. She was going into some performance program—Mike couldn't remember which one—and he knew that her vocal practices had been endless and annoying ever since graduation. Soon she would be even busier, soon Mike would be focused on his very logical and sensible future career, and they wouldn't have time for crazy private eye games that probably wouldn't make their friend any safer, but would make them all feel better in the meantime.

Childhood nostalgia hit Mike in an almost physical wave, and he was suddenly and deeply glad that Artie had called him for this ridiculous mission. Only now did he realize how much he would truly miss these friends when he was seeing new people each day, and that he should have gotten closer to them when he had the time. "We're like the Scooby Gang!" Mike said suddenly.

Artie considered that. "Like on Buffy?"

"Uh, no, I meant the actual Scooby Doo characters."

"Oh. Can I still be Willow?" Artie wiggled his fingers over his keyboard. "The girl knew her way around a computer and my hormones." Mercedes side-eyed him good-naturedly.

Mike had no idea who Willow was, so he nodded and shrugged, which seemed to please Artie. He knew vaguely that Tina was the other fan of the show among their friends, but she'd never gotten him to watch it. Now, she probably never would. Hopefully Artie wouldn't push for a viewing; it'd just make him think of Tina.

"Okay," Artie said, and cracked his knuckles again. Mercedes wrinkled her nose. "Let's figure out what all this stuff means before we tell Quinn where not to go."

"You realize that she'll tell us that we sound crazy," Mercedes said.

"Probably," Artie said with a shrug.

It was silly, true, and it was nothing Mike was practiced with. They'd probably screw up. He'd probably say something stupid. But he realized that he didn't mind screwing up in front of Artie and Mercedes, and so he shoved his bag of albums further aside and leaned in to the computer. "Okay. Let's figure this out."

* * *

"Hey," Kurt said on the way home from work on Monday. The third member of their carpool had called in sick, and so it was only him and Alan, the producer's assistant. "I have a weird question."

"I love weird questions!"

"Do you know how much it costs to hire a private investigator?"

"I... no," Alan said, clearly deflated at either the question or his inability to answer. "Why? Boyfriend trouble?"

The suggestion nearly made Kurt laugh, and he couldn't hold back the sharp rush of air through his nose. Calling Noah Puckerman his 'boyfriend' was certainly a loaded statement after that weekend. "No, I don't have a boyfriend. I need to find some people in the area and I have no idea where to even start. I asked around yesterday to see if anyone had seen their dinosaur, but there was nothing." He saw Alan's befuddled look. "It's superheroes. They have a pet dinosaur. They accidentally did something to a friend of mine, but neither of us realized that before we left them behind. We have no idea who they were, though, so we don't know where to start looking. It's like they vanished off the face of the earth."

"Really?" Alan asked, perking up again. "Maybe that's their power!"

"Maybe," Kurt said unhappily. It wasn't outside the realm of the possibility, but it would make them much harder to find. What if Puck really had been brainwashed by someone who then, quite literally, disappeared? 

"Here," Alan said when they stopped at a red light. "Give me your phone." Kurt dug it out and Alan tapped something into his contacts. "Go see her. She only works on Friday night and the weekends, though."

"Who is she?" Kurt asked as he looked at "Madame Varinka," with only a cross street for her address.

"A crazy good psychic. She tells people's fortunes on the sidewalk near the beach in Venice. She was the one who told me which job I needed to apply for, and now? Look at me. Personal assistant to an actual Hollywood producer."

"Didn't you just apply to everything that was open?" Kurt asked, bemused. Of course. A sidewalk psychic. He shouldn't have expected anything else from Los Angeles, or aura-cleansing, hemp-loving Alan.

"Well... yeah, but she told me to make _sure_ to apply to this one." Alan looked away from the road just long enough to grin at Kurt. Kurt tensed regardless; Los Angeles traffic was terrifying. "No, really, she's legit."

"Well, it's good to know that she's a legitimate psychic," Kurt said with unnoticed sarcasm, and resolved to delete the contact as soon as he was home. He didn't want it cluttering up his phone. The mind of a boy who'd grown up with two scientists as parents had little room for fortune-telling and mysticism.

"Yep!" Alan agreed. "It's her mutant power."

Kurt's head snapped over. "Wait, she's a mutant?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Like, an actual, three-fingered, furry, probably killed some people when her powers woke up _mutant?_ " Kurt's mouth wouldn't quite close. Horror forced it open. His parents heard all about problems that mutants caused for government agencies, and they brought their complaints home to their sons. "Oh my god, I'm not going to see one of those freaks! At night!"

"Freaks? Really?" Alan asked with clear judgment.

"Did you know that there are dangerous mutants living in the subways of New York City?" Kurt asked. "My parents know all about them. They told me which stations I'm not allowed to use." That group was supposed to be an especially unpleasant lot, dripping with ooze and claws and venom, who took out their mutant rage on the innocents above.

"Sure, whatever," Alan said. "She's not dangerous, though, 'cause not all mutants are. Most aren't. So give her a shot if you want to help your friend, I guess, or not. It's your call."

As Alan's judgment hung unabated in the car like cigarette smoke, the words 'help' and 'friend' hit Kurt uncomfortably in the gut. Right. He was doing this for Puck. This wasn't just about the phobias his parents had instilled in him. "You said it's her actual power?" he asked as they approached his stop.

"She can't see it perfectly," Alan admitted, "but she can definitely see parts of the future. What have you got to lose?"

_My money, my unscarred face, my apartment keys, my life._ Kurt bit down on all the answers his mother would have given. "You have a point. Thank you. I do really want to get this fixed for my friend." 

"Sure thing." Alan glanced at him as they pulled up to the curb. "Now, what would you say if I mentioned that my cousin's a mutant?"

Kurt paled and his mouth worked wordlessly.

"He's not," Alan said, and raised one eyebrow. "Just saying, though." His smile was pointed, and Kurt watched him pull away in silence. Bumperstickers asking viewers to Co-Exist, Save The Whales, Vote Green Party, and Keep Your Aura Clean waved goodbye to him as Alan vanished into traffic. 

"There really are dangerous mutants around," Kurt muttered as he walked straight toward home without stopping at a food truck. He _wasn't_ just making things up. His parents made their living studying the manipulation of energy and how to apply it, and part of their work had apparently dealt with humans. They knew about superhumans, and so they knew how dangerous mutants could be and how far their bodies could be warped. _It's not like I was just imagining that, Alan._ Stupid Alan with his stupid guilt trip.

The apartment was empty when he got there. During his Sunday search, Kurt had somehow found an open locksmith and gotten Puck his own key. Even so, he hadn't expected Puck to still be gone. Puck had said that he was going out to look for a job by ten at the latest, and while that would be a shorter day than Kurt had spent at work, Kurt remembered how exhausting it had been to prepare all those resumes and audition tapes before he moved. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to spend that many hours hunting for a job on foot.

After his clothes went neatly in the closet, Kurt hesitated as he reached for a shirt that was just nice enough for work, at least for a few more wearings. It wasn't something that he'd usually wear to lounge around in the evening, but his hand had automatically reached for something halfway impressive. No. If this was going to work, then they needed to be as comfortable around each other as any two very platonic roommates would be, who definitely did not make out on couches and rub up against each other.

Deliberately, Kurt pulled on Finn's oversized shirt that he'd abandoned after Puck's arrival. He looked like the sloppy side of comfortable, and that was just perfect. With a nod, he walked to the kitchen and put on some water to boil for rice. He'd figure out something to make, and if Puck wasn't back by then, he could heat up the leftovers. This was platonic. This was roommates.

A knock on the door pulled Kurt from the kitchen. He walked as silently as ever to the door and looked through the peephole, and then frowned. A mohawk filled his vision again. "Puck," Kurt sighed as he opened the door, "did you already lose your key?" This was not an auspicious start.

Puck smirked and held up a duffel bag that Kurt hadn't seen from the peephole's angle. It was sagging empty. "Hey, Kurt."

"Hey," Kurt said uncertainly.

"I just got in to LAX. Yeah, it was a surprise move, and I probably should have called first, but I was wondering if I could stay here?"

After a beat, a smile forced its way onto Kurt's face. "Puck, what are you doing?"

"I know there are almost no jobs out there," Puck continued like Kurt hadn't said anything, "but still, I'll work my ass off to find one, and pay you the same rent that any roommate would. So, I'm hoping I can stay here. As a friend."

The attempt to reset their awkward start couldn't be more obvious, and regardless, Kurt found himself falling for it. Puck just seemed so stupidly sincere. He ducked his head to hide how wide his smile was growing. "Fine," Kurt said, more nicely than he intended. When his hackles were up, he liked to put them back down on his schedule. "Since my roommate left me high and dry, anyway."

"Then... sweet," Puck said, and held up his empty duffel again. "I didn't actually bother packing this. I hate packing. I just wanted to have my bag."

"It's a key component of the whole traveler's ensemble," Kurt agreed. His hand ran a nervous circle around his ear and tucked away a stray hair that, out of place, was tickling his skin. He was suddenly hyper-aware of his body, just like he hadn't wanted to be when he'd picked out that ridiculous t-shirt. His smile softened and he raised his head. "Thank you."

"For?"

"Trying to fix... whatever you want to call your arrival."

Puck shrugged. "I wanted to make things right. Which I kind of suck at, but hey, I'm giving it a shot."

"How long were you even out there?" Kurt wondered, nodding at his bag. "Or did you carry that around while you looked for a job?"

"I got here maybe ten minutes before you did, and you mentioned when you normally get home. I waited outside, under the stairs where you wouldn't notice." Puck grinned sheepishly. "I don't know, it seemed better than letting you see me walk out. That would have ruined it."

"Who knew you could make grand gestures?" Kurt asked. Waiting under a staircase with a duffel bag might not really count as grand, but they were in a good mood and he was willing to go along with it. "I might actually be mildly impressed."

"Well, that's more than I managed before," Puck said. Where Kurt had been flippant, his voice ached with sincerity.

The strong lines of Puck's jaw, the intensity of his eyes (Kurt had never been able to decide if they were brown or hazel), and the tension of his body all spoke to one thing: he wanted desperately for Kurt to be happy with him. Though Noah Puckerman was still the strong, cocksure boy Kurt remembered from New York, the difference now was that if Kurt disapproved of him, all that might change in an instant. He was a muscle-bound attack dog that had rolled over to bare his belly.

A deep, insistent longing lay behind Puck's gaze. It was frightening in a way that Puck's blundering obsession at the dance club hadn't been. That night's behavior had been clearly wrong, and Kurt wanted to stop it with no further discussion. This look, though, was bigger than anything Puck had said on that sidewalk. The worst part was that it was almost appealing, because nothing in this stare was wrong. This was a first kiss and first love and first gentle time together, and a shared home that wasn't just roommates. A future. This was careers and vacations and a tiny child's hands that nearly vanished inside theirs.

Shivering, Kurt took a step away. His entire face tingled. "That's... that's quite a spell she put on you."

"Sorry," Puck said instantly. "I'll back off."

"No, it's all right," Kurt said, even though he didn't know why the words had come. "You can't help it. So long as your hands and all your parts stay where they should be, we can get through this just fine. Just remember: we're nothing more than friends who have occasionally made out." Kurt added quickly, "And we won't even do that, so you don't get confused."

"Thanks. I mean: really, thanks. You're giving me a bunch of shots, here, and it's more than I deserve." Puck rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, right where the line of his mohawk ended. "Do you still want me to shave this off?"

That put a fresh smile on Kurt's face. "No. So long as you don't make me mad again, keep the stupid thing." Puck's look of relief was almost absurd. 

"You know," Puck said just after it felt like their conversation had reached it natural end, "your dad's a dumbass for not seeing how great you are."

Kurt said nothing, but his eyes swam with sudden tears.

"I know I've told you that before, but I figured you needed to hear it again." Puck smiled crookedly. "When you spend a lot of time thinking that you're not worth as much as someone else, you need to hear that you are."

"I'm glad you came to Los Angeles, Puck," Kurt said after a considering pause, and to his surprise, he absolutely meant it. Their strange but true connection back in New York was flooding back. Although bonding over parental disappointment and failures was an odd foundation for a friendship, Kurt had needed it. Only now did he realize that, in Los Angeles, he still needed some comfort nearby, so that his world wouldn't become a dull cycle of repairing his walls and then guarding them from as many attacks as possible.

His eyes flicked toward his room, then back, where his phone was. "We can't go there until Friday," Kurt hesitantly began, "but I might have found you a pointer toward the dinosaur."

"Really?"

"Mmmhmm. Someone at my work told me about... okay, this actually sounds crazy. But we need to take whatever shot we can, right?" Kurt forced an awkward smile. "Apparently, there's this psychic mutant who reads people's fortunes on Venice Beach during the weekends."

"Oh." Puck considered that. "Awesome, let's go see her when she's there."

"You're okay with her being a mutant?" Kurt asked. "Really?"

"Uh, yeah?"

It must have just been his parents that heard about how dangerous they were. "Okay then!" Kurt said, and fought back his little twist of fear remembering all those subway stations he wasn't allowed to visit. "So we'll go see the mutant psychic and find you your dinosaur so you can get rid of this love spell, and wow, when did my life turn into a soap opera desperately looking for ratings?"

"Awesome," Puck said. With a lopsided grin, he added, "Guess this'll teach me to tag along and save your life, huh?"

"I guess it will," Kurt said. "Next time you'll just let me die." From the look of sudden fear that earned, the joke had gone over even more poorly than it deserved. "Never mind. I... what did you feel for me in New York?"

Puck, startled, took a second to ask, "Why?"

"I just want to know." The scab was there. He couldn't help but pick it.

"Right now, I can't remember not loving you," Puck admitted after a long, heavy pause. His body drooped in apology as Kurt mouthed the word 'love,' and he said, "Look, I know, I'm sorry. I do. My heart feels huge, like it's going to take over my entire body, because you've figured out how to crawl inside it. Which is pretty weird." He angled his hands across his chest like he was trying to map out the organ's physical boundaries. "You shouldn't be able to fit. But the only thing that sounds worse than having you crammed in there would be... not having you in there, and so I'm just trying to tread water and not screw things up any more until we get this fixed and everything starts making sense again."

It had been a few days of wild extremes: relief at a solution to his rent problem, humiliation over a collapsed would-be first time, everything that had happened at the club, and then this, the first declaration of love that Kurt had ever heard. It was another first time, and it was as fake as his first time on the couch would have been. The first time he'd been told a boy loved him, it was because of a spell. He couldn't be mad at Puck this time. He could only wish things were different. "Thank you for telling me."

"Maybe I felt it in New York, for all I know," Puck said. "I just really can't remember anything else. I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's not your fault. You're the one who got hit with the crazy dinosaur spell after you saved my life. I don't have any right to be angry at you for this." _Sad, yes. Angry, no._ Kurt leaned forward and idly thwapped Puck on his shoulder. "Besides, I have plenty of other things to be mad at you for."

"I said I was sorry about the couch," Puck said.

"I know. We're moving past that. But you still leave dirty dishes in the sink even though we have a dishwasher. So, there are lots of things for us to work on." Kurt stepped back. Despite logic screaming at him not to, he asked, "What's it like? Being in love?"

"I don't know a word that means both 'scary' and 'amazing' at the same time," Puck said. "But it'd be that word."

He supposed that sounded nice. "I'm not going to lock my door tonight," Kurt said, considering that. "Because I'm going to trust you. All right?"

"Thanks." Puck idly rubbed the spot above his heart again. "I talked to like... thirty different places today. Most didn't even let me do an app, but you know... I'm trying. I really am."

Kurt nodded. It felt like time for a hug, but they couldn't press their luck on that. Not just yet. "I know you are."

* * *

It was on Thursday that Puck, for no particular reason, looked up the subway map to see how far afield his job hunt could easily take him. There was a subway station decently close to their apartment, he discovered, and another subway line ran all the way out to Long Beach. Although he couldn't say why, and although he knew it was a ridiculously long ride to take for no specific purpose, he let himself out of the apartment and started walking. The neighborhood was fine during the day, if a little run-down and graffiti-marked, but knowing what its nights were like, he was glad Kurt had been sleeping behind barred windows.

Compared to that, Long Beach was a slap in the face. Both areas were open to the sky like he, the New Yorker, still wasn't used to. But while his new home was peppered with apartment complexes and discount stores, this was an industrial marvel. Coming out of the subway station and heading south soon reeked of oil, gas, and rotting detritus from the ocean. He was near the port and he could smell every last thing that fleet of ships had brought with it.

"Can I help you?" asked the woman at the Port of Los Angeles' administration office after Puck dutifully waited through her queue. 

_Why am I here?_ Puck wondered. Okay, so he'd fallen in love with Kurt, thanks to that spell, but love magic was a _thing_. That was a plot that showed up in movies and books, and that someone might theoretically cast on a person. Suddenly feeling like he knew how to work at a shipping port was so specific as to be even more unbelievable. Still, he was there, and that would be a long ride to take for nothing. "Hey, yeah. I'm hoping you guys maybe have some jobs open? Look, I can work hard, and pull my own weight...."

"We get a lot of applicants every single day," she said, not unkindly. "But the budget's tight and they don't have room to keep someone on the payroll until he's been trained."

Like in some dream, Puck started rattling off docking procedures, inventory schedules, and how to prioritize goods for distribution pickup. Although he stumbled a little on describing how to use a forklift—it was like something he'd seen, but never done—it wasn't enough to catch her attention. By the end, she looked impressed. "I'll work hard," Puck promised. "I'm just looking for enough to pay rent."

She hesitated again, and then reached under her desk and pulled out a form. Puck's heart swelled. _Is it really this easy?_ "How old are you?" she asked.

"Nineteen."

"You know a lot about shipping for nineteen," she said as she filled in the administrative sections. 

"I'm from New York," Puck said. "And, you know, they ship stuff there."

She raised her eyebrows as she wrote, but at least she didn't challenge his explanation. "This isn't a job, by the way. It's just a formal application. Still, most people don't get to this stage." The next hour blurred past: tracking down a foreman, him quizzing Puck on procedures, and being visibly surprised when Puck could answer every question he answered. The closest Puck came to failure was when he gave an answer that was idiosyncratic to some receiving yards, apparently, but was still close enough to correct. 

"We only have part-time work open," the foreman finally said. "And we don't have the budget to train someone full-time, and then only use them for part-time hours. If you're looking for a full-time job, then—"

"I'll take it," Puck instantly said. He didn't need money to go out, to buy a car, or anything. He just needed enough money for food, rent, and the subway fare for that endless ride. Hell, with the commute he'd just given himself, part-time was probably better. 

The foreman smiled. "Okay, fair enough. I'll give you the sheet at the start of each week. You'll come in starting next Monday, and plan to work every Monday. But that might be it, or we might have you on three more days. It all depends on the ships coming in."

"Sure, sounds great," Puck said so enthusiastically that he nearly talked over the foreman's words.

"How long you been looking for a job?" the foreman asked as he signed off on the paperwork.

"Just this week," Puck said, "but I moved in with my friend and he's going to lose his apartment if he can't cover rent. So long as we've got that place to live, then hey, whatever hours you want to give me. And thanks. I appreciate it."

A sliver of real respect bloomed in the man's eyes as he signed the last sheet and handed the stack to Puck. "You'll get enough to cover your room with him," he said. "No matter how slow things get some weeks, you'll always have that much."

Puck nodded and it felt like the weight of one of those shipping containers lifted from his chest, raised by his own hands. As clearly as his own graduation, Puck remembered toting a literal ton of weight around. _Now I'll have to use those forklifts instead of just picking up stuff, I guess. No wonder I didn't know how to describe how to use one._ The words floated through Puck's mind like a dandelion seed, and it took him a beat to grasp the meaning.

Superpowers.

Whether that Asian chick had put some whammy on him to make him think that he was in love with Kurt, or had really peeled back some world that was supposed to be happening, superpowers were part of that. He couldn't be sure of what it meant just yet, but it was a fascinating new piece to the puzzle. "Right, thanks a ton," Puck said as he cleared his head. "You're a lifesaver."

"There's probably someone else out there who's trained and would be happy for part-time work," the foreman said. He was still friendly, but his meaning couldn't be more clear. This was quite an offer to make to someone who'd just shown up without any work history, in the worst economy in years.

"I won't let you down," Puck said. "I promise." It was a good thing he didn't have to come back in until Monday. After that realization, all he could think about was seeing that psychic tomorrow night. For a while, it even overpowered his urge to tell Kurt the good news.

Kurt was thrilled at hearing that they wouldn't have to move, and actually flung his arms around Puck before he remembered that it was a bad idea. Puck inhaled the clean citrus and green tea scent of his shampoo before he could help himself and nearly staggered under its perfection. 

He still had no idea whether moving to Los Angeles was the best or worst decision he'd ever made.

* * *

When Santana got a phone call on Friday morning, she feared the worst: Cooper.

Their Wednesday date had been a rigidly structured parade of paparazzi hotspots. They ate at the right bistro, window shopped at the right store, and danced at the right club. She had three drinks (all comped, because her tits looked amazing), and walked back outside pleasantly buzzed but not falling-down drunk. Cameras were there and had flashed when they passed.

Unfortunately, Cooper had turned the entire night into more acting practice.

"So here's my idea," he'd said, "layers."

"Like for clothes? It's July."

"No. For acting." He tapped the side of his head knowingly. "See, Santana, this is why I am an actor on the rise, and you are still outside like some cat burglar seeking the perfect window to cut open with one of those twirly little diamonds." Cooper gestured at the sky, ignoring her scowl. "We should add layers onto our attempt to be photographed. If we want to be taken seriously as a Hollywood power couple, then we should act like we already are one."

"My lips are nowhere near big enough to play Angelina Jolie."

"Actually," Cooper said, "I was thinking of Will and Jada."

Santana latched onto his arm with an iron grip. "No." However Cooper planned to play Will Smith, she was about ninety percent sure that it would get them run out of town. "Let's stick with Brad and Angelina," she said, desperate to tamp down his worse idea, and only too late realizing that she'd agreed to one that was stupid on its own. And so, she'd looked like some desperate Angelina knockoff while Cooper flashed a day's worth of stubble, and she _still_ wasn't on TMZ as anything other than "Cooper Anderson's unknown friend."

Cooper loved that he'd gotten two mentions within a week, even though they were part of larger galleries and never got more than a couple of comments. The fact that he was 'Cooper Anderson' and she was 'unknown friend,' though, had left Santana in a punching sort of mood. Her tips on Thursday had been terrible. 

"What?" she demanded of the phone, which she'd answered without looking.

"And hi to you too, Lopez. What, are you on the rag?"

She blinked. "Puck?"

"I called Brittany, but she's at work, I guess. Are you going to be around tonight?"

"What?"

"Are you going to be around tonight?" Puck asked very distinctly. "Kurt and I need to go somewhere in Venice, and it's probably going to be a bitch to find the spot on a Friday night."

"I get off at eight," Santana said blankly, "but you're in New York."

"Except for how I moved here. Didn't Brittany tell you that we hung out?"

Santana frowned. "No. Wait, why am I being your tour guide, anyway? You could at least tell me hello first, and apologize for that 'on the rag' comment."

"Whatever. How many times have I said that to you already?"

Santana considered that and shrugged. Fair enough. It had practically been his morning greeting to her every day at school. "When did you see Brittany?"

"Sunday, I think."

Brittany was seeing people without telling her? Not cool. "I... fine. What are we doing tonight?" Santana asked. "I can take you there, whatever, but who are we seeing?"

"A mutant psychic. I got hit with a spell by a superhero with a dinosaur, and now I'm in love with Kurt and everything's really fucked up. Stop laughing, I can hear you."

Santana couldn't.

"Fuck off. I'll leave a message with Brittany to pick us up."

That news was so delightful that Santana didn't mind going to work, and all her irritation about Cooper fled. She didn't care that Brittany was still asking customers about a dinosaur—Puck's dinosaur, apparently—nor that Brittany had seen Puck without telling her. Clearly, nothing had happened at that meeting but pure absurdity, and Santana had nothing to worry about there. "I heard Puck's in town," she said as she skated behind the counter and met up with Brittany at the sinks. "Are you up for taking him to some mutant psychic tonight?"

"Is Kurt coming?" Brittany asked as she balanced trays.

"Probably, I didn't ask."

"Like a double date!" Brittany chirped, and nodded as she skated off.

Santana considered that and started laughing again. Noah Puckerman, actually thinking that he was in _love?_ Oh yes, this had brightened her week. It didn't matter that she hadn't found time for those demo tapes, nor that Cooper was... Cooper Anderson. She was going to end her Friday by watching Puck try to make sense of being in love with Kurt, and that really did make everything worth it.

As Brittany finished her shift hours earlier than Santana, she was waiting with the boys when Santana was driven home by Maybe-Lucia. (Considering that the girl dropped her off at least a few days each week without complaint, Santana thought, she should probably learn her name for real.) Puck looked exactly the same as she remembered, except darker from the sun; he must have been outside constantly since he'd gotten to California. It suited him.

The sun did not suit Kurt. He looked better pale, and even his slight tan looked like freckles were waging an epic battle across his cheeks. His outfit was suited for New York, not Venice Beach on a night in July. And, Santana noticed, he was sitting far away from Puck. _That love spell didn't go both ways. Beautiful._

"Judy Garland," Santana said, nodding to Kurt. 

"Courtney Stodden," he said back. "Love the TMZ scrambling."

"Aww, you're paying attention to me," Santana said. "I'm touched."

"I checked up on you on Facebook when Puck said we were going with you tonight. I'm amazed you're living here," Kurt said. Puck looked warily between them, but said nothing. "It's the City of Angels. I would have thought you'd have burst into flames when you crossed the city border."

Santana smiled thinly. "I can see where you peeled from a sunburn." Kurt's hands flew to his cheeks and her smile sharpened. Victory.

"This is going to be fun!" Brittany announced with a smile. "Everyone, say goodbye to The Truman Show." 

She was serious about that, Santana learned, for Brittany refused to take them anywhere until all three of them had shaken The Truman Show's tiny paw and thanked him for the visit. "I know just where that place is," Brittany said as the girls led Kurt and Puck down the crowded sidewalks. The night was loud with shouts and laughter, and thrummed with the possibility that a fight might break out in dance or with fists. Despite the crowd, Brittany set a fast pace. _She really wants to find this mutant for Puck. Weird._

"Why don't you just go for it?" Santana soon asked Kurt.

He tried to shy away from her, but the crowds meant that he was either forced to stick close or lose sight of Brittany, and so with a grimace he asked, "What?"

"Look, it's not like the world is full of people fighting over your Clorox-colored ass, and Puck's not a total waste to look at. Maybe this love spell is your lucky day."

Kurt covered his flash of hurt admirably. "Maybe you should ask Brittany what she thinks about you getting photographed with some strange man," Kurt shot back. "I thought the two of you were official. Like, out."

"Whatever," Santana muttered, and wished she hadn't said anything. "Like you're one to talk." They all knew that Kurt's dad was going along with the ridiculous pretense of Kurt being straight, or at least straight enough to maintain the vague, future possibility of a white wedding to some girl in a veil, who would later pop out at least three grandkids. _Boy, is that guy ever going to be disappointed._

"Come on," Brittany said impatiently when they failed to keep her pace. "Santana, I have to find this dinosaur."

_I didn't realize you cared so much about Puck._ With a sigh, Santana stopped trying to find specific insults for Kurt, or even dream up insults for the whole general love spell situation. Reminded of how they'd been in New York, she wanted to again walk arm-in-arm with Brittany past the neon storefronts; reminded of her pursuit of TMZ's front page, she knew she couldn't. Not yet. _Maybe going to a psychic is a good idea, after all._ Mutants were super-gross, and they'd totally made fun of that girl at her junior high who'd turned out to be just enough of one that she sprouted a sixth finger on one hand, but she could use a bit of psychic direction. 

Tucked away among t-shirt vendors and street performers, muscle-bound couples and singles on the prowl, was a cowled woman sitting at a folding table. She looked like she'd be too low-rent for a state fair in Arkansas, and despite the reasonable price of five dollars on her handwritten sign, no one was stopping. The knot of four teenagers hesitated across the street from her. Kurt finally steeled his nerves and crossed, with the others tagging behind. "Madame Varinka?" he asked warily.

She looked directly at him, and her cowl fell backward to reveal a surprisingly young woman with hair hanging in black waves around her shoulders. A third, vertical eye blinked sleepily open on her forehead. All four stepped backward with sharp breaths, but Varinka said nothing. _That is definitely a mutant,_ Santana thought, and only then realized that no one else on the street was reacting to the sight. No one else on the street was even saying _anything_. Turning a slow circle, she saw the crowds moving at half speed, and all in black and white and in total silence. Only the four of them and Madame Varinka were in color. The others realized it in time with her, and turned to the mutant in mingled fear and anger.

"Nothing is wrong," Varinka said, and gestured for them to sit. There was only one cheap folding chair, and none of them took it. She looked disappointed. "I just find it easier to read without distractions, and so it's handy to step into the hallway."

"You're... you're Madame Varinka?" Kurt asked again, swallowing.

"The truth?" Varinka asked wryly. Her third eye scrunched up. "My name's Samantha. But people see what they want to see when they only have two eyes open, and 'Madame Varinka' fits in better with the whole kitschy scene. I know it's kind of an touchy stereotype, but I've gotta eat, you know?"

"Why didn't anyone notice your creepy eye?" Brittany asked, unabashed. Her eyes were huge as she stared at it.

"People see what they want to see," Varinka repeated. She was right, Santana realized; even with her real name, it still felt like she should be 'Madame Varinka' instead of 'Samantha.' "And unless someone tells you to come looking, most people look right past me." Her smile sharpened. "And for the people who actually know to come looking for me, and that I'm seriously legit? It costs more than five dollars."

Kurt scowled. "Wait, just because Alan told me to come find you, we have to pay more?"

"Look, the people who just drop by and don't know who I really am get basic bullshit responses, okay? That's what five bucks gets you. If you want the real deal, then gimmee fifty, Mr. Hummel." Kurt's brow furrowed.

Puck blinked. "Who the hell is Mr. Hummel?"

Varinka opened her mouth, considered it, and closed it. "Wow, that's a good question. Weird. I'm actually not sure where that came from."

"Oh, this looks promising," Santana said, rolling her eyes. "A psychic who says random crap and doesn't even know where it's coming from."

"You all want to know where the dinosaur is," Varinka said. "Mr. Mohawk wants to figure out how to turn off this love spell." Her head snapped toward Brittany, and her third eye squinted at her. "And you want to go shopping for the ring that you never got."

Kurt reached silently into his wallet and retrieved three twenty-dollar bills. Satisfied, Varinka handed him a ten back.

"Thanks," Varinka said. "Okay, so here's the thing: it's not like I can see everything. I see some parts of the future really super clearly, and others... totally blank. I'll tell you everything I know about what you want, but past that, I have nothing to offer. Got it?"

"Got it," Santana said warily. The others nodded, and somehow, they all found themselves clustering together. Santana didn't even mind when Kurt's hand wrapped around her wrist.

"Mohawk... Puck?" She grinned when he nodded. "I love it when I get names right. Speaking of which: I'm still positive that you're Mr. Hummel, kid, but whatever. Maybe you'll be in the witness protection program someday. Anyway, Puck: you can't turn off this love thing. You're going to be head over heels until the day you croak."

Kurt and Puck stared at her, speechless, as Santana burst out in raucous laughter. Their expressions alone were worth the trip.

"Don't worry!" Varinka assured them. "Because not-yet-Hummel-dude? You're gonna fall for him like a ton of bricks. Again."

"Oh my god, this was not what I came here for," Kurt said blankly. "We just wanted the dinosaur."

"Wait, 'again?'" Puck asked.

"Oh, that?" Varinka waved him off. "The dinosaur and all the kids are somewhere around the tar pits. Check there, you'll find them. Hey!" she said brightly, and grinned at the still-stunned Kurt. "You were right about dinosaurs in the tar pits, after all!"

"I don't like this, I want to stop," Kurt said in a tiny voice.

"You two are totally gonna get married," Varinka said, snapping her attention to Brittany and Santana, and the sidewalk tilted under Santana's feet. Air fled from her lungs, and the dull roar in her ears made up for the ocean sounds that had faded along with the crowd. "Or you're... gonna die?" The ground tilted again more sharply, and if not for Kurt holding her up, Santana would have fallen.

"Can I pick?" Brittany asked. "Because, um, I'd really rather get married than die."

Varinka rubbed her temples, frowning. "This is... wow, sorry, guys. This is weird. It's normally a lot easier to read people. You guys have the craziest auras I've ever seen in my life, and I've read Charlie Sheen _and_ Chelsea Handler."

"I... I think we're done," Kurt said nervously, and started backing away. Santana, to her surprise, followed his lead. "We know to look at the tar pits. Thank you."

"Wait," Varinka said, and for whatever reason, they listened. "Wait. Oh my god. Who even _are_ you kids?" Her three eyes were equally stunned, and all three glimmered with an inhuman glow when she said, "It's up to you to save the world."

"What," Santana said flatly.

"You're supposed to have superpowers," Varinka said. Her breath began to speed. "Just like you thought, Puck. Okay, this is bigger than anything I've ever seen before. You need to get all your friends here, and they're all supposed to have superpowers. That's how you're going to save the world. There's a rope, and an anchor, and four seals you have to deal with. Break the seals, use the rope to pull the anchor, and boom! The world's saved!"

"Guys, I think the mutant lady's gone crazy," Brittany said.

"You might be right," Varinka admitted helplessly. "This is like nothing I've ever seen before. But I swear, the entire world depends on you figuring out what to do next."

"So, what do we do?" Puck demanded.

"I don't know! I told you, I see what I see and that's it!" Varinka gestured between them. "Go fuck each other, maybe it'll give you some ideas!"

"All of us?" Brittany asked blankly.

"Please no," Kurt said.

"It was just a suggestion," Varinka said. "But look, you need to find some way to tackle this. Because I'm being one hundred percent legit with you guys right now: the world is resting on your shoulders," she said, pointing at Santana. "And yours," she said, pointing at Kurt. "And... not yours," she said, and gestured past Puck to Brittany. "But yours."

"Hey," Puck said.

"So, figure it out," Varinka said. "And really, that's all I have to say."

The sudden noise of the crowd was almost deafening, and if not for holding onto each other, they probably would have scattered like startled animals. They were back in the normal realm of Los Angeles, full-color and as loud as ever. Their session, apparently, had come to an end. And that was all the information they were getting: she was either going to marry Brittany or they were going to die. Kurt and Puck were in love, or would be soon. And oh yeah: they were supposed to have superpowers and needed to save the world.

"So," Varinka began, and held out her hand, "can I get a tip?"


	5. No More Running

"Great, okay!" Brittany said as she and Santana returned to their building and left behind the noise of the city. After Puck and Kurt called a cab from the beach road, she and Santana walked back together among the crowds. Weaving between people like that, they hadn't talked until their arrival home. "So, we're going to get married, and that means that you can dump Cooper."

"What?" Santana asked.

"The mutant lady said we're going to get married," Brittany repeated, slowly, so Santana was sure to hear. It had been one thing for Puck to think they'd walk down the aisle. For this stranger to confirm it had made her day, and filled her with absolute certainty. She opened her door and motioned Santana in, and locked it when they were inside. "And that's great, because I always knew we would. Ever since the first time we went out, because we just fit together. I'm going to wear a big poofy Disney princess dress with my hair up, and you're going to wear a little satin dress that sort of looks like a sexy nightgown, and then on our honeymoon we'll jump the Snake River like Evel Knievel."

Santana didn't look outright opposed to the idea, but said nothing.

"Can you run this down to the dumpster?" Brittany soon asked as she handed Santana a sealed baggie full of cat poop, fresh from The Truman Show's box.

"Sure," Santana asked. She vanished into the hallway and Brittany sank to the floor to play with her kitten.

"Madame Varinka said that your mom is gonna save the world," Brittany told him. The Truman Show nibbled on her crooked finger. "That's pretty neat, huh? I'm gonna get superpowers and save everyone, and you're gonna have another mom. But since I'm already 'Mom,' you'll have to think of something else to call Santana, or else we'll all get confused. Okay?"

The Truman Show tried to jump on her shoulder. Brittany cupped under his tail and supported him when he didn't quite make it, and stood when she heard the door opening again.

"Here's the thing," Santana said as she closed the door and locked it. "What we did tonight was insane. Certifiable. We willingly went and talked to a complete freak who locked us into a black-and-white movie on half speed, and then she told us that four of us are supposed to save the world?" She snorted. "Or... three of us, since apparently Puck doesn't count."

"We all count," Brittany said. "She said we're supposed to get all our friends here." Her smile spread. "And then we can get married." She set The Truman Show down on the windowsill and watched him look out at the city. _Does he have big dreams, too?_

"She doesn't even know Kurt's right name, Brit!" Santana protested. "Look, I willingly handled cat shit just now because I wanted a second to get my thoughts together." That must have reminded her, as she washed her hands in the kitchen sink as she talked. "I love you. I do. More than anything. One day, we're going to get married. I promise." Her skin was still faintly damp when she returned to Brittany and interlaced their fingers. 

"So you'll dump Cooper," Brittany said. When Santana's face fell, so did her stomach. 

Santana held on when Brittany tried to pull her hands free. "Baby, if this freak turns out to be right, then fine. I will. But we don't know if anything she said is true, and it took me forever to find someone who has a SAG card and was willing to stay quiet. I can't just throw that away, because then I'd be throwing away everything I'm trying to do for you."

"What if the dinosaur is really at the tar pits?" Brittany asked. Saying they had to save the world was one thing, far off in the future. Saying that Kurt and Puck would be in love, and promising that Brittany and Santana would get married was another, nearly as distant. (Or they might die, apparently, but Brittany didn't like to think about that.) The dinosaur, though, was something they could check right away. Brittany had started believing everything as soon as the world slowed and Varinka's third eye opened. If Puck's dinosaur was where that mutant said it would be, then surely Santana had to believe everything else, too.

"Then I'll...."

Brittany stepped closer, smiling. Her gaze roamed Santana's face: eyes darker than the city's night sky, fine features, a tousled frame of soft black waves. Santana's skin was a rich caramel after their time there in the sun. When Brittany slid one sleeve of Santana's unbuttoned shirt off her shoulder, she saw tan lines scoring Santana's body like marks on a map. Brittany slid her fingers under the strap of the bikini top Santana was using as a bra, and slowly traced that tan line toward Santana's paler breast. 

"Then I'll talk to Cooper," Santana said thickly, and swallowed.

"Don't say his name," Brittany whispered. "Okay?"

"Okay," Santana said. Brittany's hand reached the cloth triangle over her breast, and Santana gasped and arched forward as Brittany's fingers slid under the patterned material. A firm nub awaited her.

Brittany sucked a wet patch on the bikini top and felt Santana's nipple ache hard under it. Delicate fingers ruffled her hair as she worked. Satisfied, Brittany pushed the material away and circled her tongue directly on Santana's flushed skin. She was faintly sweat-salty after the heat they'd walked through, and when Brittany pulled back, the taste lingering on her lips reminded her of the ocean. "Come to bed?" she suggested. Eventually, she wouldn't have to ask. They'd be in the same bed every night.

Santana nodded and let herself be guided there. Their clothes fell absent-mindedly aside as they kissed. It was a slow, languorous approach like the girls seldom attempted, because Brittany didn't feel like she had to grab onto Santana while she could. They could take their time, because this was how they were supposed to be forever. That dinosaur would prove it. 

Santana was hard and fierce and brave to the whole world, but she could be vulnerable in front of Brittany. Outside, she tossed insults as easily as her hair. Her eyes flashed with practiced superiority. Here, when they were together, she lay slack under Brittany and moaned softly as her legs parted.

_Why would you want anyone else?_ Brittany thought as her fingers trailed up Santana's inner thigh, reveling in each twitching muscle. Santana was convinced that she had to wax for Hollywood, even if none of the roles she auditioned for involved nudity, and her bare lips looked delicate between slender legs. Brittany leaned in and kissed one side, then the other, and then delved gently between them with her tongue. Santana shuddered again and wrapped one leg around Brittany's back.

"That feels so good, baby," Santana whispered as Brittany brought her fingers into play and spread Santana apart. Her folds glistened. Brittany teased Santana's clit with the tip of her tongue, flicking it in a way that Santana would soon be too sensitive to take. When she wasn't just wet but dripping, and Brittany's fingers were buried deep inside her, Santana's nerves would be stretched like drumskin and any real pressure would bring pain instead of pleasure. 

Apparently, that had made it difficult to orgasm when she was younger. Before she met Brittany. Santana would grow ever more tense, fighting her body for a response she was making it harder to give, and would only succeed if she managed to distract herself with a fresh fantasy that derailed her single-minded determination. Under Brittany's hands and mouth, though, she relaxed and flowered.

Because they were perfect together.

And Santana would accept that, once they found that stupid dinosaur.

Drawing her tongue just below Santana's clit, and then in a slow arc around one side of her slit, Brittany felt Santana shudder and then fall even more slack. Her voice was velvet and honey to match what was under Brittany's lips. "Please, Brit." Santana's hands brushed against Brittany's loose hair. "Please."

"You want me?" Brittany asked.

"More than anyone." Santana swallowed. Looking as far down as she was, with her head so flat against her neck, she had a double chin like even the most slender person would. Something about that drove Brittany wild and sent sudden, ridiculous energy between her legs. _No one sees that but me._ She wanted all of Santana: the beautiful dresses and the sexy dancing to music on the beach. Snotty noses when she was sick and needed to be taken care of, and wrinkles and grey hair when they were older. A double chin when they were making love, because Santana cared more about looking at Brittany than looking perfect.

"I want you, too," Brittany said as her fingers trailed along Santana's outer lips again, feeling how warm the flesh had become as it covered the increasingly sensitive skin below. "Forever."

"Uh huh," Santana said vacantly. Her hips tilted forward. "Forever."

"Forever," Brittany said, but just as she leaned forward to send Santana on a slow, aching journey toward her peak, Santana's leg jerked against her back, hard.

"Ow!" Santana shrieked, although the noise turned into laughter. "Oh god, stop him, stop him!"

Brittany pulled back and saw The Truman Show latched onto a toe on Santana's other leg, gnawing on it with his needle teeth. Tiny claws had sunk into her foot to hold his prey in place. Every time Santana tried to flick him away, his determination to hold onto his prey intensified. "No, kitty!" Brittany said, and peeled him off Santana. "Bad."

He tried to bat Brittany's hair and nearly caught her chin with his claws. Brittany sat him down on the floor and stood to her full height. Hands on her naked hips, she looked sternly down at her kitten. "The Truman Show, we are trying to have sexy lady time, and that is not when you're allowed to bite Santana's foot."

"You are never allowed to bite my foot," Santana corrected. She'd sat up to inspect where he'd clawed her, and made a face of exaggerated pain as she brushed at the tiny marks. "I'm bleeding."

Brittany wet a tissue and sat next to her foot. "Can I?"

Nodding, Santana leaned back and lifted her leg. Her toes splayed, the better for Brittany to see any wounds The Truman Show had left behind. "You look like Ariel," Brittany giggled as she carefully wiped away the tiny droplets. 

Santana pulled a hank of dark hair in front of her face, raised an eyebrow, and let it fall.

"Don't you remember?" Brittany asked as she swiped the wet tissue across Santana's foot again, and then worked one strong thumb on its sole. Groaning, Santana relaxed into her foot massage, and it was a few strokes before she shook her head. "When Ariel was on the beach, right after she turned human. She held up her foot and looked at it."

"Right," Santana agreed. "Ugh, that feels so good. I'd been on my feet all day when we walked over to see that crazy lady."

"I like our job." She really did. Their co-workers were nice, she didn't mind the uniform, and people came in there because they needed food in the middle of having fun. If Brittany could make sure their day stayed warm and sunny even while they ate, then she was making people's whole days happy even while she earned great tips. 

"I do, too," Santana agreed. "But I just want bigger things."

"You tense up," Brittany reminded her. "You focus too hard. Just... give in to what's happening right now? And let that be okay?" She saw the protest in Santana's eyes. "If we just let everything work out, I promise it'll be okay." They were only people. People sometimes screwed up when they made decisions, because they didn't see how all those little dominoes would fall. It sounded like they had fate on their side, though. Fate was hard, but it worked out in the end when people realized what they were always supposed to be doing.

"Everything will be okay," Brittany promised as her fingers delved back into the slick heat between Santana's legs, and her mouth worked against the tangy taste of her. Santana groaned, and her foot found its way back around Brittany. With a long, shuddering sigh, she gave in.

* * *

"We shouldn't go this weekend," Kurt said when the cab dropped them off. They'd driven in silence. He paid the fare with a credit card he was no longer terrified to use. "There will be crowds," Kurt said as he fumbled with the apartment key. "It's busy on the weekend, and there will be crowds."

"Well, we're not gonna go at two in the afternoon," Puck said. His voice echoed in Kurt's bones down to the marrow, and Kurt shivered. "No one's going to be around in the middle of the night no matter what day we go, and I've got work on Monday."

"Oh. Right," Kurt said as they stepped inside and he fastened all the locks. "That's right. You have your new job, and if you don't have your new job, then I don't have my apartment. So I guess we'll go tomorrow night. Late. And it'll be—"

"Kurt."

"Mmm?" Kurt asked nervously, and put his hands down when he realized he was dry-washing them.

"It's okay. We're gonna get everything figured out." Puck smiled lopsidedly. "Hey, you met a mutant and got away alive. See?"

"Guess so." Kurt folded his arms across his chest when his hands began to twitch back together. Really, he had no idea how that woman dealt with her extra eye. Nor did he have any idea how any mutants dealt with being _them_ , with all the physical changes that entailed. 

"So... are we gonna talk about what she said?" Puck asked.

Oh god. "What, talk about how I'm supposed to be named after small collectible figurines?" Kurt asked. "Clearly, she has no idea what she's saying. And really, if there's supposed to be any world-saving involved, I'd rather leave that up to the professionals, thank you. I'm busy. I still need to put together outfit boards for Sky's scenes next week."

"Right," Puck said slowly. Disappointment darkened his eyes.

Kurt found himself biting back the urge to apologize. Puck loved him and it wasn't his fault, and yet here Kurt was, treating the idea of reciprocating those feelings as scarier than saving the entire planet. Still, he couldn't seem to stop. Everything was falling out from under his feet and he was scrambling for a toehold.

For most of his life, Kurt had thought that he was second-best. Now he was starting anew in a fresh city, but just when he thought things were turning around, Noah Puckerman arrived at his front door and that whole house of cards started to collapse. Kurt had practically run away from home, didn't even have a paying job waiting for him when he moved thousands of miles alone, and he was supposed to save the world? He was supposed to have superpowers? He was supposed to fall in love with _Puck?_

It was like Gandalf handing out quests to all those short, hairy little men, but at least Elijah Wood knew the guy first. Madame Varinka was some random mutant in a discount fortune-telling booth in Venice Beach, and Kurt had never seen her before he learned that they supposed to save the whole stupid world. 

_How?_ What on earth was he supposed to do? He wasn't strong. He wasn't noteworthy in any sense, or even brave. There was nothing special about him. He was just trying to get by and carve out some little life for himself in the ways that his father had never wanted. Maybe he could have handed a bit of this at a time, but.... "It's too much," Kurt said. "I'm sorry. I just need to be alone and figure out what on earth my life is supposed to be right now."

"Sure," Puck said sadly, and let Kurt go into his room without protest. 

Kurt's thumb hesitated over the door lock, and pulled away without clicking it. He hadn't done that ever since that first night at the club, and he and Puck had been getting along well for a week. Then, of course, something had to happen to ruin that balance. The worst part was that it had been his stupid idea to see Varinka. _Why can't my life just be simple for once?_ Kurt wondered as he decided to turn his attention outside of his apartment. _Is that really too much to ask?_

He scanned Google News and Kurt nibbled his lower lip. Tensions were escalating between Washington and Beijing, just like everyone expected. Conservative members of Congress, citing the need for a strong national defense, were attempting to push through that drafting bill again. It was limited, they promised: restricted to healthy young adults, mostly male, between the ages of eighteen and twenty-three. Only college age, they said, and only those not in four-year programs would be affected. _Meaning, the politician-acceptable cannon fodder who don't have their parents writing tuition checks,_ Kurt heard. 

His stomach flip-flopped and sent acid creeping up his throat when it landed. If Kurt had needed confirmation that he wasn't brave at all, seeing the articles on Congress voting on his potential death would more than do the job. Maybe that was what Varinka meant. Maybe they were supposed to stop this, somehow. If it were a world war, then stopping that might mean saving the world, right?

Kurt tried to distract himself again by reading New York news, but it was futile. Fine, there was a serial killer stalking Downtown, who'd started making his first kills outside of Mutant Town. So what? There was always something bad happening when a supervillain showed off to whatever superhero he'd chosen as his adversary. Fine, Captain America saved puppies and looked good doing it, or something similarly trite. Fine, a fiery horned beast had taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque and poked its head out in Manhattan instead of some villain's lair. It only singed one building before a hero swung by and smashed it into the pavement.

This news was not nearly exciting enough to balance out knowing that he had to save the world, apparently. That he had to get powers somehow. That... Puck.

He just wanted someone to tell him that it would all be okay.

"Hey," Kurt said shakily when his call was answered. He'd tried three times, as he knew that alert chime was kept on maximum volume. "You're there."

His brother's tired face appeared on his laptop screen. Finn rubbed his hands over his eyes. "Yeah, it's like two in the morning here, dude. Did you forget about time zones? I know, they're hard."

He had forgotten, actually. "Thanks for picking up."

"Well, I haven't really gotten to talk to you since you moved." Finn's annoyance at being roused was slowly but clearly morphing into concern. "You okay? You look all spirally, like after you accidentally got out of line for front row tickets on that Broadway site."

That had been a horrible day. 

"How's Los Angeles?" Finn asked when Kurt didn't answer. "Do I get to find out what you've been doing?"

Had he really let this much time pass with nothing but basic posts on Facebook? Here was his new address. There's a shot of a palm tree. Here's the Hollywood sign. His entire life had been boiled into infrequent status updates, and the worst part was, it had been easy to do. Except for his job, which he wanted to keep hidden until he felt secure in that success, the life he was so desperate to cling to had been... nothing, really. 

It was hard being alone. He hadn't realized how hard until he _wasn't_ alone, even if that realization had come in the form of Puck crashing into his life like the Kool-Aid Man, with Santana and Brittany (of all people) trailing behind. "I got a good job," Kurt said shakily. "I really lucked out. It was kind of complicated how it happened, but... but I don't want to get into that. It's a really good job."

Finn smiled. "Awesome, dude. Have you met any celebrities? Have you made new friends?"

"I... no. Not really." His closest friends were the guy who drove his carpool, the preteen twin who _hadn't_ broken his leg, and his fifty year old boss. "I mean, I've met Juniper and Sky Matthews, obviously, if they count as celebrities."

"I saw them on a bus station ad," Finn said, impressed. "Good for you."

Pride swelled in Kurt's chest. He knew that Finn had always been held up as the good son, who dated who he wanted and naturally had the world defer to him. Just like Captain America had been fawned over in the news for a minor save, Finn had praise fall into his lap, too. That was what happened when you were tall and broad-chested, and were good at throwing socially-approved objects around. Part of him resented that. Another part craved Finn's approval desperately, as it was what his father never gave him. "How have things been going with you?"

Finn hesitated. "Good."

"Good?" 

"Well, you know. I'm dating Tina. I'm looking for work. Mom and Dad don't mind if I stick around until I can pay rent somewhere else, so that's cool."

Kurt flashed back to the reason _why_ Finn was dating Tina, and struggled to keep his face still. He loved his brother, and he loved his best friend, but when he'd been trapped in his bedroom as Finn and Rachel fought it out in the living room, he'd wanted to push them both out a window.

_I'm a shooting star, Finn. I love you, but I have to follow that path to glory, and you're just... holding me back a little right now._

_Are you kidding me with this? I'm holding you back? Me? After I put up with all your crap?_

_You are going to be a wonderful father in some adorable house in New Jersey, and I wish you all the best with that! But I'm a star, and starting now I have to make the tough decisions. Don't you understand, I'm doing this for us. So we can stay friends, because I won't let you down when I inevitably have to choose practice sessions over our dates._

_Great. Wow. Yeah._

_Finn... I love you, but this for the best. For both of us._

_Shut up. Seriously._

_Finn!_

_Don't give me this. I thought you grew up, but you're as selfish as you ever were. Stay friends? Who'd want to be your friend? Look around, Rachel! Are there many people who spend time with you on purpose? Nope. Because you're you._

There was a long pause. When Rachel spoke again, she had that thick, wavering voice that she pulled out when she didn't want to show the world how much it had hurt her. _I'll let you know when I'm in my first show. And I'll send you tickets._

So far as Kurt knew, that was the last time Rachel had spoken to Finn. And then Finn ended up dating a quiet girl, who'd once been with the shyest boy in their class. From the impression Kurt had gotten, he'd probably rolled over their relationship like a steamroller and picked up the remnants. 

Tina would never call Finn a weight holding her back from her path to glory. Finn didn't do very well with anyone who insulted him.

"Finn, the reason I called you is...." Kurt swallowed. Finn, who'd started dozing off in the long silence, jerked his head back up. "I know the two of you fought a little, although I'm not positive over exactly what. But I need to ask you something really important. I need you to focus on answering this question for me, instead of just focusing on how it makes you feel. Okay?"

"I don't want to talk about Rachel," Finn groaned, guessing.

"No. Not Rachel." Kurt swallowed. "I want to ask you something about Puck."

Finn began to shut down visibly. He hadn't been expecting that name. "What about him?"

"He's here. He moved to L.A., and he's staying with me."

"He's staying with you?" Finn repeated, disbelieving. "Dude, no way. Kick him out."

"What?" Kurt half-laughed. "I can't kick him out. I need his rent money, and he found a job already—"

"Oh, great. So _he_ managed to find a job. What, did you help him land one?" Bitterness laced Finn's voice. Kurt wondered how long and hard he'd been searching for a job, with no success. It had been months since he'd left. Finn wasn't used to failing at something he really wanted.

"He found it on his own. Please, Finn, listen to me? I know you two argued—"

"He called me a loser, Kurt! He sided with Rachel!"

Kurt doubted that. That had been a bad day for Rachel, as self-absorbed as she ever got. Even Kurt had called her on it afterward. Surely, Puck hadn't sided with her completely. Of course, if Puck dared to align with her opinions even a little, Finn had probably taken it as a full betrayal. Finn wasn't used to not being treated as always in the right, either. "He saved my life," Kurt said, and hoped it would do the job.

It did. "What?" Finn asked.

"Masks were fighting on the street and I nearly got killed. He saved me. Will you listen to me, now?"

Finn didn't look happy, but he nodded.

The words he was about to ask were ridiculous. Completely absurd. And yet, as the sight of that third eye slowly opening and closing filled his memories, Kurt's entire body went tense with the need to know the whole truth. "Back in New York, do you think he was ever in love with me?"

"Is that what he told you so you'd let him stay?" Finn asked. "That asshole."

"No." _He just tried to make love to me for his first rent check._ "Did I ever act like I had feelings for him?"

Finn's brow furrowed further. "I... no, I don't think so. You just stared at his butt a lot when you thought no one was looking. I saw. We all saw."

Kurt looked down.

"Man, what's up? I haven't really talked to you in forever, and now you're asking really weird stuff. Is that what happens when you move to L.A.? Because everyone says the people there are different. Maybe it's something in the air."

"A fortune teller said I would fall _back_ in love with him," Kurt settled on. "I was just trying to figure out exactly how ridiculous she was being."

Finn burst out laughing, and covered his mouth so he wouldn't wake their parents. "Oh," he giggled when he had his voice under control. "Uh, if she was right on that, she'd be right on anything else she said, because that's the craziest thing I've ever heard of." He grinned. "What else did she say? I wanna hear how stupid these L.A. fortune tellers are."

"Um. She called me by the wrong name, and said that I need to get all of my friends out to L.A. Oh, and that I need to get superpowers and save the world."

Finn giggled again. "Please tell me she did this for free."

"Oh, absolutely," Kurt lied. "But do you want to come out to Los Angeles some time? Maybe? Not because she said so, but because... because I miss my brother?"

Finn smiled lopsidedly. "I bet they'd pay for a plane ticket."

_Of course they would, if you're the one asking them._ "Thanks. Love you. Go back to sleep, and I'm sorry I woke you up."

"Love you too, man. And don't be a stranger again, okay? It's weird not talking to you every night."

"Yeah," Kurt said. "It's been weird, being alone. Night."

"Night," Finn said after a jaw-cracking yawn, and turned off his camera. Kurt didn't move, because he could still hear Finn's voice as he stared at the blank screen.

_If she was right on that, she'd be right on anything else she said, because that's the craziest thing I've ever heard of._

That wasn't as encouraging as Finn meant it to be.

* * *

The next day passed in a haze of tension. For all that the previous Saturday's trek to West Hollywood had exploded in his face, Kurt would rather go back to another dance club than get into Brittany's car when it arrived that night. "A week and a half ago," Kurt muttered as Brittany pulled into the empty parking lot for the La Brea Tar Pits, "I was just a wardrobe assistant for the Disney Channel. Now a mutant psychic is trying to convince me that I have to save the world, and oh: get superpowers."

"It's fun, right?" Brittany asked brightly, and bounded out of the car. Santana unbuckled and followed her.

"I am not hijacking a truck full of toxic waste if we're supposed to get powered up," Kurt warned Puck, who didn't argue.

The place was unassuming in the empty night. Although Kurt had never seen the tar pits in person, he'd been expecting something far grander than what sat before them. They were surprisingly small. The gift shop was tiny for being attached to such a famous name. He'd been expecting The Land Before Time, and instead, it was only a few dark ponds with some cheesy fake mammoths along their edges.

Brittany didn't bother looking around like the rest of them. She was a woman with a mission. "Hello!" she shouted across the empty pavement, and hopped over a low fence. "Hi! Where are the superhero kids with the dinosaur, please?"

"I really don't think this is the right way to go about this, Brittany," Kurt said nervously after a few more attempts. Santana looked at the closest office buildings, some with windows lit, and bit her lip. Although it made Kurt even more nervous, he, Santana, and Puck followed Brittany onto the pits' private property when she kept shouting. 

"Hello!" Brittany yelled, even louder. "You accidentally whammied my friend with your magical stick and you need to fix it!" She slammed the side of her foot into a metal trash can and nodded, satisfied, when it rang out across the empty space. _"Hi, answer me, please!"_

A sudden rush of air staggered them. A great ripping noise followed, then the stench of methane gas. "Oh my god," Santana coughed, waving her hand in front of her face. They could see the tar pits falling back into place after almost boiling over like some Yellowstone geyser. "The tar just cut one."

"I didn't know they even did YAAAGH!" Puck yelled, shoving Kurt behind him, as an enormous mechanical _thing_ shimmered into view twenty feet away. It looked like some contraption that James Cameron would design for a frog-themed sci-fi submarine. It was hideous.

"Oh wow, okay, stop yelling," said the girl who first emerged from whatever had just appeared before them. She was Asian, wore fanciful goth clothes, and sported colorful streaks in her hair. Kurt could only think of Tina, and the unexpected similarity knocked some of his surprise over the froggy submarine right out from under him. "This is a _hideout_ , you know? We kinda need to have you not blow our cover, however you found us."

"Who're these guys?" asked a blond boy who poked his head out of the flying submarine and inspected them. He looked a little older than the girl, about their age, and was a perfect model of the lanky California surfer. "Do I fry 'em, or...?"

"You all nearly fried me once already," Kurt snapped, collecting himself. "And if you were the one throwing around fireballs last weekend, then _you_ nearly killed me when I was walking to the grocery store."

The girl glared at the boy, who grinned sheepishly. "Oops."

"And whoever was waving around a freaky magic wand," Puck added, "did something weird to my head."

"Oh no," the girl sighed. "That would have been me. Well, at least we know why you've been trying to find us, now. Chase? Do you think we should take them...?"

"Take us where?" Santana asked suspiciously.

"Check out how bad they are first, Nico," Chase suggested. "Maybe it's not a big deal."

Nico nodded and walked up to Puck. Despite how tiny she was in comparison, he looked ready to bolt. "Okay. When exactly was this, and what did my staff do to you?"

Puck frowned with thought. "It was, uh, last Friday?"

"Friday," Kurt confirmed. "West of downtown."

"You were fighting someone on the streets, and there was this weird fog that looked like it was filled with nightmares. You yelled... something, I can't remember, and I stopped to watch." Puck folded his arms, grumpy. "I probably shouldn't have done that."

"Reality," Nico said, and shared an unhappy, knowing look with Chase. The word seemed to echo. "That was the spell. I remember. I used it to take us out of those hallucinations that guy had us trapped inside, but if you were outside of that cloud, then... what could it possibly do to you? All it did was strip away anything false."

"It made him fall in love with Kurt and we talked to a mutant fortuneteller and she says that the world's going to end unless we can find four seals and a boat anchor," Brittany said. "Oh, and he thought Santana and I should get married, and then the fortuneteller said we would."

Stunned, Nico looked between everyone and said nothing, waiting for a further explanation that didn't come. 

"Seals like they have at Sea World?" Chase asked, frowning. "Like, those squirmy wet things that balance balls on their noses?"

"I think they're talking about magic," Nico said grimly. "And at this point, I think we should take them downstairs."

* * *

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Santana muttered as she strapped herself into the froggy submarine. Any fear she felt was hidden by aggravation. Brittany only seemed excited, and Puck couldn't decide whether he'd rather look curious or frown. Kurt was pale white, and nowhere more than where his knuckles were wrapped around an armrest. _What am I doing?_ he demanded. The question reached a fever pitch when the mechanical vehicle surged _up_ and then _down_ with a rush of noise.

Thanks to their flawless collective decision-making skills, he'd just agreed to send himself into the realm of these complete, superpowered strangers. When the door opened and he saw what was bizarrely below the city, he knew it had been a terrible idea. This was some set out of a Hollywood sci-fi movie. Under the La Brea Tar Pits was a cavernous space dotted with high-tech equipment. It was hotter down there than on the beach at midday, and Nico and Chase had friends who all looked as worrisome as they did.

The only truly familiar sight was that stupid dinosaur.

"See?" Brittany asked Santana in delight, and bound toward the creature before a heavyset girl with dyed purple hair held up her hand and shook her head in warning. The dinosaur quirked its head to the side when Brittany waved at it. It smiled like a hungry shark.

Kurt shuddered.

"What's going on?" asked a slender girl who looked like she could be Chase's sister. "Who are these people?" She looked at the girl with the dinosaur. "Gert, did I miss a group meeting or something?"

Nico rubbed the back of her heck. "Karolina, I accidentally hit one of these guys with a spell, and they've been trying to hunt us down to fix it." She smiled. "Oops."

"A-plus job," snorted another new arrival; a boy, this time.

_How many of them are there?_ Kurt fretted as he took in the admittedly handsome boy with messy brown hair. He was shirtless and his pajama bottoms had been pulled on backwards, but Kurt couldn't bring himself to focus on the likely fact that the boy had been sleeping naked. 'In someone else's territory and, oh yeah, they all have superpowers' was not the time to let his libido wander.

Puck scowling at the newcomer when he saw Kurt eying him sent Kurt past 'fretting' and into a state where he wanted to beat his head against the stone walls. "Just... fix whatever you did," Puck said, pulling his eyes off the boy. "Look, a weirdo mutant psychic told us that we have to save the world, so we have to know what we're doing first."

The tar pit kids who hadn't heard this speech before looked at each other. 

"What, don't you trust us?" Santana asked. "I know it sounds crazy, but...." She swallowed. "The woman knew where the dinosaur was. I guess she might know more." Brittany shot her a triumphant look.

"No, I trust you," said Nico. "You guys seem way too bad at this to be secret villains trying to lure us into a state of distraction, or something. We've seen that before. I'm betting you're genuinely harmless."

"Thanks," Brittany said brightly, although Santana frowned.

"Yes, we're totally harmless," Kurt added, looking nervously again at the dinosaur. 

"I'm just glad that we don't have to save the world again, if it's supposed to be up to you guys. It's _exhausting,_ " Gert said.

"There was this deal with our parents and sacrifices for giant monsters and everything just _sucked_ ," Karolina said. "You guys are welcome to that whole thing. Trust me."

_Oh good. This can be our life, now._ Really, couldn't he just turn back the clock a week and a half and avoid all of this? Kurt thought back to that night on the street and almost whimpered. If Puck hadn't gotten hit with that stupid spell, none of this would have happened.

"Here's what we'll need for help," Santana said, beginning to tick things off on her fingers. Apparently, she was unaware of the desperate delaying and bargaining tactics going on in Kurt's head. "This place is hot and smells like road construction, so we want to cut the small talk and get out of here ASAP. We need you to reverse whatever you did to Puck's head. The mutant lady couldn't figure out whether the two of us are going to get married or die, so _that'd_ be nice to sort out. And supposedly, we have to get all our friends here. So, we'll need you to do all this to them later, too."

"Oh," drawled the shirtless boy. "Is that all?"

Nico smiled apologetically. "Yeah, that's not going to happen. Look, my staff can only cast a spell once. _Ever._ So to start with, I can't even just do an exact repeat performance on this guy with the hair to figure out exactly what happened there. And if we solve all of your problems with a big giant deus ex spell, then that might screw us over a year down the line, you know? You seem nice and all, and I'm sorry about the spell, but I'm not just going to give you a magic super-duper fix-everything solution."

"But she knew where the dinosaur was," Brittany said. "And that means everything else she said is true, too."

Kurt shot her a sidelong look. His gut twisted. Had she coordinated that with Finn, or was it that obvious?

When Santana stayed quiet, looking at Brittany in much the same considering way that Kurt was, Brittany took over completely. "Please? You guys all look super awesome and we won't ruin your hero stuff. We don't want to muscle in on your turf or anything." She held up her hands, twisted her fingers, and waited expectantly.

"I have no idea what that's supposed to mean," Chase admitted.

"It's an L and a B." Brittany extended her arms. "La Brea side, represent."

"I just want the world to make sense again," Puck said, "and... and I guess to take care of whatever that mutant thinks we need to do. I didn't ask for that, but I pretty much don't want the world to end, since it's where I live."

"Point. Let me see what I can think of," Nico relented. "I'm sure there's some happy medium we can find." She pulled a penknife from her pocket and held it above her palm. "When blood is shed," she said, sounding almost bored as she slashed a red line across her hand, "let the Staff of One emerge." Like a beam of light breaking through clouds, a glowing rod burst from _inside_ her chest and extended to its full length. Though she grabbed it with all the absent-minded attention of picking up a pencil, and the rest of her friends took it all in stride, it was finally too much for Kurt.

Love spells. Fireballs. Dinosaurs. Mutants. Superpowers. Saving the world. Magical glowing wands bursting from inside a person, summoned by blood.

_Nope._

The worst part was, Kurt couldn't run. There was no exit except the vehicle they'd come in, and he didn't know how to use it. The air felt hotter than ever. He was suddenly, keenly aware of the tons of rock above his head.

"It'll be okay," Puck promised. Apparently, he'd noticed Kurt's distress. He'd come to Kurt's side quietly, and was talking in a low enough voice that they couldn't be heard.

"I just...." Kurt laughed breathlessly. "Three months ago I was still at home. Mom and Dad had dinner out on the table every night. I was sleeping in the same room as my brother. And everything made sense. Now I'm living with a boy who had a love spell cast on him, so that I can afford the apartment that my drug addict roommate abandoned me in, and I'm going to see mutants and superheroes on purpose? Look at where we are now!" he added, gesturing to the peculiar space around them. "God, for all we know, Varinka sent us here to die!"

"It's okay," Puck said, and held his shoulders. His thumbs sketched circles on Kurt's arms. "It's going to be okay."

"Why are we trusting her?" Kurt asked. "She's just some freak on the beach who took fifty of _my_ dollars, plus a tip, to tell us the most insane things I've heard all year. We're supposed to have superpowers? We're supposed to save the world?" He wanted to add the last part—that he was supposed to fall back into love with Puck—but something in Puck's eyes stilled his tongue.

A beat passed. Kurt still didn't add that, and Puck nodded slowly. "She told us these kids were under the tar pits," Puck said. "She knew about the dinosaur on her own, and sent us here to find them. That's gotta mean something for her powers, doesn't it?"

"Everyone keeps saying that," Kurt groaned.

"Because it's true. She knows what she's talking about. She's gotta."

"I'm scared," Kurt admitted. "I was never even supposed to be around people like her, and now I let one send me... here. Wherever here is." His voice shook. "And save the world? Why would anyone ask us to save the world? Ask me? This is insane, we've probably actually had a complete psychotic break. I bet that mutant did it to us because she hates us for—"

Puck moved to kiss him, and just avoided his mouth at the last second like a fighter jet banking. Instead, he pulled Kurt close and rubbed his open palm against Kurt's back. It would have been sensible to pull away, but Puck was the one thing that Kurt really knew in that crazy room. Even Brittany and Santana barely counted as friends. "It's okay," Puck said. "We can do this. And they'd ask you to save the world because you're brave and tough and always keep going, right?"

"But I'm not," Kurt mumbled against his shoulder. Compliments were nice, but only if they were grounded in reality. He'd run away from his family and the city he loved because it was easier to start a whole new life than deal with the one he had. His biggest achievement in life was having his leg broken by a bratty starlet. His first kiss was a dare and his first love was a magic spell gone wrong. He was the second, failure twin for a reason.

"I remember things," Puck said, pulling far enough back to meet his eyes. "And so I remember that you are brave. You really are. Can you trust me on this?" _Please trust me_ , his gaze pleaded.

Kurt hesitated. The smart thing to do would be to turn around, demand to go back to the surface, and return to his normal life. He could ignore Puck's feelings until they migrated to someone else, and this whole ridiculous situation peppered with mutants and magic spells could disappear into their history and stay there. 

And then Congress could draft him. As Kurt looked into Puck's eyes, his mouth somehow said, "I'll trust you."

Puck smiled, and Kurt let himself be led forward again. The others seemed to have reached a conclusion in the meantime.

"I'll give you two spells," Nico said consideringly. "Look, what you're asking for is incredibly powerful. Like I said, if I use up the big guns on you, then I might not have those spells handy when I need them to save me or my friends. So, we can do one now—tailored to just what you need—and then you can get your friends here. After that, I'll cast another one on everyone. All right?"

"Fine, but what do we need?" Santana asked. "All we know is that we're supposed to find four seals, a rope, and an anchor, whatever that all means, and that we're supposed to save the world. We know... two steps up from nothing."

"We know that we can get married," Brittany pointed out.

"Or die," Santana shot back. "And we don't know which."

Kurt laughed weakly. "Is there any chance you can just... point us to whatever we need to know for a happy ending?" That sounded general enough to satisfy Nico's need to keep big spells in reserve, should avoid any complications with Puck, and give the girls what they needed to head toward 'wedding' instead of 'funeral.' Yes. This was good. For Kurt, a happy ending would be an Oscar nomination after he'd been tapped as head of wardrobe for some frilly costume drama filmed on-location in Paris. No Noah Puckerman, no saving the world. 

"A happy ending? Probably," Nico said after a second's consideration, "but let me just warn you, it'll probably play out in weird ways. Magic's always like that."

"A spell to point us at a happy ending?" Santana mused. "That's... I might actually be okay with that."

"Wow, that sounds pretty nice," said the shirtless boy, who Kurt thought had been referred to as Victor. He smirked slightly. "Are you sure you want to give it to them, instead of us?"

"Happy endings mean _endings_ ," Nico said, turning to him. "It sounds like they've got a specific job to do, so this spell just means that one thing should work out well for them. Hopefully. Whereas if I cast a spell on us that was all about endings, when we don't have anything in particular we're doing right now...."

"We'd _end_ ," Gert said knowingly. "But hey, at least we'd be happy."

"A cement truck would probably fall on us while we were super high and scarfing Doritos," Chase said. "Got it."

"I miss Doritos," mumbled a sleepy pre-teen girl who'd been roused from bed, still in her pajamas.

Kurt tried to focus on the young girl instead of how scared he was. It sort of worked. "Isn't she a little young to be living in a... cavern?" Teenage superheroes were one thing, but that girl was only a child.

Gert shrugged. Karolina said, "We don't have our parents here. We only have each other. And the most important thing we can do is be there for each other when we need to be. So, we're there for Molly, and this is home for everyone."

"Are you guys friends like us?" Molly asked, rubbing her eyes. "We fight sometimes, but you can kick butt when you're friends. And so then everything will work out, and...." She broke into a fresh yawn.

Victor smirked. "I think that's code for 'please no arguments between anyone, get this handled quickly, I want to go back to bed.'" He offered his hand to the girl, who took it. "Come on. This'll probably be pretty boring. I'll tell you a bedtime story to help you fall back asleep."

Molly looked at him balefully. "I'm too old for bedtime stories."

"I was gonna tell you a story about bad guys getting beat up."

"Oh. Okay," she said, and they vanished around a corner.

"We've been looking for this dinosaur for a week," Puck reminded Kurt, holding his wrist even though Kurt wasn't going to back away again. "You knew a spell was coming."

"Not for _me._ And not with everything Varinka told us," Kurt countered, but it was too late. Nico was already raising her arm.

_"Happy ending,"_ Nico intoned. Her eyes flashed bright and her staff glowed like the center of the sun. For one terrible beat, Kurt knew that he'd made a mistake. The energy crackling toward them was a deadly arrow. Everything his parents had warned him about was true. He'd trusted a mutant, he'd gone underground into dangerous isolation worse than any subway station, and now being led astray was going to prove fatal. He was going to die alone and no one would ever find his body where it rotted under the tar pits. Tourists would point at where his corpse rested.

He wasn't brave and Puck was wrong, Kurt thought in the last milliseconds before energy bathed his body and surrounded his friends in a nimbus of light. Bits of the world ripped away like shingles in a windstorm. He might have screamed.

When the energy faded, Kurt spent a terrified second thinking that he'd gone blind. The room returned in blocky shadows, from distant hallways to the concerned face in front of his. _Puck_ , Kurt thought as he saw dark eyes blink. He made out a nose next, and then a mouth, and then all of Noah Puckerman.

Armor fell off his heart and love rushed in to fill it. It should have felt alien, but instead, he was coming home. Puck's earlier aching need and promised futures echoed inside Kurt's heart so loud that he couldn't think of anything else. When that energy hit, he'd gotten back something he hadn't known he'd lost. With a cry, he threw himself forward and found Puck's lips with his own, desperate and fierce.

_If this is a spell,_ Kurt thought as their mouths worked together and his hands clutched the man he suddenly loved, _please don't change it._ It might be fake, but right then, he was willing to live inside that fantasy. When he broke off for air, his hands were still tight knots around Puck's shirt. Pulling back from the kiss was too much separation already.

"Whoa," Nico said, clutching her staff.

Gert's eyebrows were climbing off her forehead. "Uh, Nico? When you said 'happy ending,' were you shooting for, you know... the massage parlor version of it?" Her head tilted slightly. "Not that I'm complaining."

"Puck," Kurt whispered. It was all he could manage. "How...?" How had they lost each other? This seemed like an old habit.

"I don't know," Puck admitted before leaning in to kiss him again. Kurt ran his hands desperately over Puck to memorize the feel of him: the rough seam where his shirt strained over broad shoulders. The square jaw he'd always been so proud of, and that now worked against Kurt's with renewed passion. The ridiculous hair that Kurt was glad he'd kept, because it was _him._

This was real. There was no way something this wonderful could be faked. Whatever reality that girl's spell had peeled back from Puck on that fateful night, it had revealed something as perfect as the love they shared together. She hadn't made something up. She'd uncovered a world where they were together, and everything felt right.

That was the world they had to save. Kurt's life there had to be a million times better than the overworked, lonely wardrobe assistant with a broken leg. It had to be, because this came out of it.

They had to save that world.

Amazingly, he now felt up to the job.


	6. Come Together

"I think they got hit with something we didn't," Santana said as she watched Kurt climb Puck like a tree.

"We were already in love," Brittany said, shrugging. She threaded her fingers through Santana's and squeezed. "We are, right?"

On a night when they'd faced the ridiculous tale of a superhero team with a pet dinosaur living under the La Brea Tar Pits, Brittany's hand was reality. Her warm, smooth skin was reassurance that everything would work out, and her elegant fingers interlaced through Santana's were the time they'd spent together, showing Santana who she really was. Santana never wanted to let go of everything that hand symbolized, even if that 'everything' was sort of terrifying.

Santana knew that the spell hadn't done as much to them as it had to the boys. One change still fell from her lips. "I'll talk to Cooper, just like I promised." It wasn't like he'd done her much good, anyway, and anything that put such happiness on Brittany's face had to be the right decision. "And duh. We're in love."

As they talked, one of the kids from the tar pits sidled over. The blonde girl was watching them and seemed to approve of the sight. "You guys are cute," said Karolina with a quick, slippery smile. "I hope you work out."

"Thanks," Santana said. It was true. They were cute.

"We can get married back home," Brittany said, linking her arm with Santana's. "I don't know if we can here or not, though? It's really confusing."

Karolina's nose wrinkled. "With the whole Proposition 8 thing? God, you're telling me. I mean, my hopes are high, but it has been a total nightmare living through everything. People seriously think that our _rights_ are up for a vote. I bet some straight white dude would pitch a total fit if we told him that he has to get lesbian approval before he... I don't know, gets to join his country club."

Country club? Santana approved of the stereotype use. So: Karolina, this athletic blonde who looked more than a little like Brittany, was just as queer as the two of them. Santana hadn't noticed; she hadn't even guessed. "Yeah, totally," Santana said when the other two waited for her reaction.

"Anyway," Karolina said, with a nod toward Puck and Kurt, and then back toward the two of them, "it's nice to have more heroes in the city who're down with the rainbow." She gestured to the teens around her and continued, "I love these guys, but sometimes it can feel a tiny bit token-y on your own, you know?"

"Well," Brittany said, "I think our group is pretty much a big bag of Skittles right now."

Karolina giggled. "There's one way to put it. I hope all of you guys do really great. We've had to stay pretty low-key because of Social Services and our actually evil parents, and so we didn't get to do all the good we could have done."

"Oh, right," Santana said. Damn. If she was this poor an actor in auditions, it was no wonder she hadn't gotten any callbacks. "Doing good." She'd forgotten that was the theoretical point of all of this: saving the world. It had gotten lost among the hideout under the tar pits, invisible jumping submarine, and actual living dinosaur. "Yeah, if you couldn't poke your heads out whenever you wanted then I bet you totally had to let some people get, uh, killed by crazy demons. Sorry."

Karolina grimaced. "Yeah, seeing a girl get sacrificed is sort of what kicked us off on the whole hero gig."

Brittany paled. Santana swallowed and said, "Oh." She'd been kidding.

"We still help where we can, but half of being a hero is inspiring other people to be heroic, I think. That's a little hard to do when no one can see you." Karolina smiled helplessly. "Oh well. One day things'll change. I'll get married, I'll be famous for being who I am... all that good stuff."

"You'll be famous," Santana repeated slowly. The words resonated.

"Fine, 'famous' might be pushing it," Karolina said. "My parents were actors and I saw that there was actually a lot that could go wrong there. But I just want to be able to help without keeping my head down, you know?" One of her friends called her, and with an apologetic wave, she said, "I've gotta go. But good luck with everything. Let us know if you need any help."

Brittany tilted her head. "Thanks, but how do you know for sure that we're not bad guys?"

"We don't." Karolina shrugged. "But sometimes you have to believe the best of people. Plus, there are way more of us than there are of you, and we're the ones with powers."

Fair enough. The girl departed and Santana let her go. Everything made sense, suddenly. They weren't just trying to save any old world; they were trying to save a world in which every single one of her dreams had worked out exactly like she'd wanted them to.

"We were famous in that world we're trying to save," Santana said as she half-pictured, half-remembered watching a taxi drive by with an advertisement on its door. It was like some foggy boundary between a daydream and memory; either way, she knew it could happen. "Oh my god. Or we're going to be famous in the world we're about to _make_. That's our happy ending, Brit. We just have to find those seals and anchor and... whatever, and then I get everything that I promised you!" She clasped Brittany's hands and giggled with delirious joy. "We're going to get married and be rich and famous, and I am going to buy you a gold-plated pony."

"Um. But I think it'd suffocate?"

Santana threw her head back and laughed. God, who knew that spending time around a loser like Kurt Hutton could have its benefits? "We'll poke noseholes," she said, and pulled Brittany in for a kiss. Her hands cupped Brittany's cheeks like a fragile vase. Like a work of art. "Let's figure out how to get those powers we're supposed to have, kick some bad guy butt or whatever, and be big, famous stars. This is the best night _ever._ "

Who knew wishes were a real thing, and that they were dispensed from the La Brea Tar Pits? Apparently, life was as simple as that: wish for a happy ending, get one delivered. New York might be the city where you could make it anywhere if you could make it there, but Los Angeles was the city of angels. Rights now, those angels were looking a lot like fairy godmothers.

* * *

"It feels like I remembered how to breathe," Kurt said as he trailed his fingers across Puck's cheeks. The square jaw, the rounded angles, the real strength hiding behind the mask: he needed all of it. It was too real to be a spell. He'd never been in love before, yet he'd been missing this like the air in his lungs.

"Babe," Puck whispered, and pulled Kurt's fingers to his mouth. He kissed them, feather-light, and then parted his lips far enough to pull in the tips. Kurt shuddered at the warmth closing around him and felt it jolt through his entire body. His mouth fell open, gasping, and Puck leaned forward to pull him into a freshly possessive kiss.

"Whoa, whoa!" said a girl's voice from a mile away. A hand on Kurt's arm became too insistent to ignore and he pulled away in a haze. Puck grazed Kurt's lip with his teeth, holding on, and that nearly had Kurt going in for another round. If Nico hadn't forcibly put herself between the two of them, he probably would have.

"Nice spell," Puck said, dazed.

"Okay, wow, sorry," Nico said. "I didn't expect it to go haywire like that. I can try to fix it, if you want."

Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt could see Brittany frowning. He did the same. His hand closed around Puck's wrist like she might try to steal him away. "Don't. Don't do anything."

"You're sure?" Nico asked. "Because I don't know if I'm down with sending you off under a love spell that I put on you. I mean... straight talk, guys: love spells are how you get Voldemort. I don't want that on my conscience."

"This isn't a love spell," Kurt said fiercely. "You said it was for a happy ending? Well, I don't know how, but I know this is part of it. Don't touch him and don't touch us."

"Fair enough," Nico said, backing away. "I know better than to argue with a man that's got crazy in his eyes. Whatever happens next is all on you, just so we're clear." She cleared her throat as they moved in for another kiss. "We are clear?"

"Crystal," Puck murmured before his mouth sealed against Kurt's.

"Hello! I'm talking to you." Nico jammed her magical staff between them like a lever and they broke apart, irritated. "You'll come back here when you get your friends in town?"

"Yes," Kurt said, annoyed that she was stopping him from kissing. Kissing was good. He liked kissing.

"And you'll be safe and totally non-evil trying to get superpowers? Because you seem nice. I'd hate to have to, um...."

"Put you down in the street like dogs," Gert suggested, and pointed her hand like a gun. Her dinosaur sniffed the air in what was probably intended to be a threatening manner.

"We're good," Kurt promised them. "We're just going to do what the nice... terrifying psychic told us to do, fix everything, and get our happy ending. Then we will be out of everyone's hair. All right?" Puck blazed liked a bonfire next to him. How could he have spent that week together without noticing him?

"Okay then," Nico said, and snapped her fingers. "Oh! Hey, in case I hear something about a way to get powers, what's your phone number? Or address, I don't care." She grinned smugly when Kurt freely offered both. "If you're a bad guy, you're a terrible one. You just totally gave me a way to track you down, and I can tell that you have absolutely no poker face."

"Is that enough to let us go?" Kurt asked impatiently. She was a terrible roadblock to all the kissing that needed to be happening.

"Chase!" Nico called, waving over the blond surfer look-alike. "Take them back up? I think we can trust them."

"It's a little late for that now, if we can't," Gert noted as the four were herded back into the vehicle and launched to the surface. Chase might have said goodbye. If he didn't, Kurt didn't notice.

Everything moved in a glossy haze, from finding themselves back in the parking lot to driving through the streets of Los Angeles. Lights streaked by like extended exposure photography, and Santana's head was a black blur against them where it leaned against Brittany's shoulder. Two minutes ago, they'd been under the tar pits. Now five. Ten. Ten minutes ago, Kurt's whole world had changed.

This was it. This was what his parents studied: powers, twists in reality, all of those sorts of things. Kurt was better prepared than most to accept what he'd been told, now that it had socked him across the jaw and left his heart full and aching. They had to save the world. Fine. He was ready.

Or at least... now he was ready. He'd been so scared, back when they'd talked to Madame Varinka. He didn't know what was so different now, but he wasn't scared any more. He felt brave.

He was hopeful.

"We'll talk to people," Santana said as they dropped the boys off at Kurt's building. "And see if we get any leads on powers, okay? All sorts of weirdos come to our restaurant, I'm sure we'll find something."

"Uh huh," Kurt said idly, and thumbed the hair on Puck's forearm.

Santana's nose wrinkled as she saw them touch. "Gross. Enjoy yourselves, but don't tell me about it. And seriously, let's get this wrapped up ASAP, because I've gots me an Emmy and a People's Choice to win and I want to get a move on." She gave them a pageant wave through the window as Brittany pulled away. "Let's get this happy ending, because right now kinda sucks!"

_No_ , Kurt thought as he watched the girls pull away into the night, and pulled Puck up the stairs, giddy. _Right now just got a whole lot better._ They stumbled up the stairs in a tangle of limbs and Kurt fumbled three times trying to put the key blindly into the lock. The men nearly fell into their apartment. Heat, passion, love; it all overwhelmed Kurt as he pushed Puck against the closed door and wondered if they could make it to his bed.

"I love you," Puck said as Kurt fumbled with his shirt. It peeled easily away once he pried it free of Puck's jeans, and Kurt skimmed his hands gratefully across the thick muscles below. Puck's tan was a dark crescent at his neckline. The skin below his shirt was several shades paler, and his nipples stood out in stark contrast. Kurt dove in and tongued one, delighting in the way it firmed in his mouth. 

"Please," Kurt said when Puck pulled him up for a kiss. At first, as he repeated the word between kisses, he didn't know what he was asking. Want turned into thick need between his legs and his meaning became clear. 

Puck's knee parted his legs and Kurt rocked gratefully against the presented thigh. His jeans were tight, too tight, and the friction of denim and Puck's leg soon had Kurt almost frantic. It was the same intense desire he'd felt on the couch, and it almost frightened him that his body could feel that way. He was out of control inside his own skin. This time, though, he had a partner that he trusted, and his body screamed to let go.

"Wait," Puck said after Kurt groaned and rocked his pelvis against Puck in one particularly hard stroke. "Wait, wait."

"Come on," Kurt whined. It was an unflattering noise that he hadn't intended to make. He was still on autopilot. Was this some sort of misguided payback for pushing Puck away a week earlier?

The rod between Puck's legs said that he'd like to keep going, but the rest of him was a determined slab of responsibility. Petulantly, Kurt's hips bucked forward again. He groaned against Puck's bare chest as he felt his shaft grind against his too-tight pants. "Wait," Puck repeated, and pulled Kurt into a kiss. That stopped him where words hadn't. "Not like this."

"Seriously?" Kurt asked.

"You want rose petals and fancy music and candles. You don't want to do me against a door for your first time when we both smell like the tar pits."

_Puck_ was being the responsible one, now? Kurt could have slapped him. Across the face. With his cock. _Note to self: you get a little touchy when you're turned on._

"I want to," Puck said. "My body fucking _hates_ my brain right now, trust me. But you got hit with a magic spell half an hour ago."

"So?"

"I don't want to do it like this. Not with us."

"But it's real," Kurt said. "It's the most real thing I've ever felt in my life. It's like everything else is bleached from sitting out too long in the sun, and then this is bright and new and...." His breath lodged in his throat. It felt like his heart was sitting up there, too. "But it doesn't feel new. It's like this is how I should have been all along. I don't understand, but I'm not going to fight what feels like the best thing ever happened to me."

Conflict warred across Puck's face. The id-driven boy who Kurt had known in New York battled and lost with the responsible man who'd somehow raised his head in Los Angeles after that night with the dinosaur. Even though it sounded strange coming out of Puck's mouth, he asked, "But what if it wears off?"

"It won't," Kurt insisted, and tried to laugh. "I can't believe _you're_ holding back, after everything."

"Yeah. After everything that I did. That's why I'm holding back. I screwed up a night for us before." Puck swallowed. "But whatever's going on is a hell of a lot bigger, now. I'm not going to screw that up until I know things are okay." Something in Kurt's eyes must have protested his answer, because Puck took Kurt's shoulders in his arms and murmured, "We can wait a little to do this the right way, okay? Because we've got forever."

Forever. 

The word fell from Puck so easily, even as it jolted Kurt's heart. He meant it, that much was obvious. And whoever this boy—man—who was being responsible with his life, the world, and Kurt's heart, it wasn't the same Noah Puckerman who'd showed up on Kurt's door a week earlier and expected to get free rent. A journey three thousand miles in the air hadn't changed him. Something about a single shouted word of "Reality" had.

Something was going on that was far bigger than them. They'd stumbled into a puzzle of infinite size and variety just because Puck had tagged along with Kurt to the grocery store. What had seemed ridiculous before was now undeniable, between the dinosaur and the psychic and Kurt's heart and the grown-up that Puck had somehow become.

The sons no one had ever really wanted were supposed to be heroes. They were supposed to save the world.

Kurt swallowed around the emotion lodged in his throat. "Forever?"

Puck smiled that rakish grin of his, like he'd grown up with Han Solo as a role model and a mirror next to the television for practice. "Yeah." The world seemed to go silent. Puck didn't blink as he stared into Kurt's eyes, and then slowly repeated himself. "Yeah."

It was a stupid, nothing, meaningless word, and yet the ground seemed to shake below them. 

Kurt took a while to respond. "Something huge is happening," he said.

"Yea—no kidding."

"Everything she told us was true." Kurt breathed deeply. "Everything the crazy mutant psychic on the beach told us was true. We have to save the world. We're going to get superpowers... somehow, and everything is going to change, and...."

"And we're gonna have a happy ending," Puck said with a firm kiss. He was beaming with delight when he pulled back. "Forever."

"What's going on?" Kurt asked helplessly, although he didn't know if he wanted an answer. Explained, this paradise might flee. 

"You're going to go to bed," Puck told him, "in your room, and I'm gonna go to bed in mine."

"Why are you being so responsible," Kurt whined, tugging at Puck's wrists in the vague direction of his bedroom. "I thought I could count on you _not_ to be responsible!" His body sang and cried out for a duet partner.

"I've had a week to get used to this," Puck reminded him, although the longing in his eyes let Kurt know that he was at least tempted. "You feel drunk at first, and if this is forever, I don't want to screw up our first time because I pulled you into bed with a magical hangover. Yeah," he said with a sheepish grin. "I'm serious about all of this. You can tell I'm serious because I'm not pulling my dick out. We've got years for that, and I want them to be perfect."

"You were less frustrating when you were trying to get into my pants for rent money, Noah Puckerman," Kurt half-protested, half-laughed, and slid his hands regretfully down Puck's bare chest. "All right. Forever can wait until we know that I'm not magically drunk. How long until we know that I'm not magically drunk, exactly?"

"I think you'll figure it out," Puck promised him, and, with an almost physical look of pain, stepped toward Francis' old bedroom. 

"Where did the old Puck go?" Kurt begged one last time. The old Puck would have seen Kurt's heart driving his libido into sudden, shocking overdrive and given them both what they wanted. 

"He grew up," Puck said. Then, just in case Kurt thought he'd been entirely replaced by some responsible pod person, he winked and said, "Don't worry. The neighbors'll be calling the super to complain about the noise." His door closed and Kurt jolted at the slam.

Through his buzzing head, Kurt grasped just enough sense to decide that Puck was right, after all. The night had been too big; no, the _week_ had been too big for him to be fully sober about it. And although his tolerance for Puck making decisions for him was infinitesimally low on a regular basis, Puck was the one who was familiar with what a hangover felt like from that magical staff. He could listen to him on this.

Kurt shot Puck's door one last longing glance, and then went to bed even though he was far from tired. The world hummed around him. He'd never felt so alive. Kurt could hear the screeching of tires taking off too fast from an intersection, feel every inch of the fabric of his sheets. His heartbeat was a symphony. The ceiling above him was a roadmap.

_I'm important._

It was a dangerous time of night when philosophy crept in. Wasn't that what everyone wanted, he asked himself: to feel important? It didn't mean having your face on a billboard. It could be the love of a family, or being counted upon by friends. It could be a loved job that no one else could do just right, or being the most important person in the world to that one special someone. It could even mean being a hero.

So long as what you did mattered, life could really feel worth living. But nothing he'd done had really mattered, and that was why he was on auto-pilot. His great job had been tempered by the physical abuse he'd taken to get it. He wasn't what his family wanted, and his best friend's life had veered thousands of miles away from his. His first time with a man was going to be nothing more than a rent check.

A slow grin spread. But that wasn't true now, was it? He had a job, and it was the most important one in the world: _saving it._ He was supposed to get _superpowers_. And, however it had happened, he was in love with someone who looked at him like there wasn't a better person on the planet. 

Biting down hard on the giggle that nearly escaped him, Kurt held his mouth shut until it hurt. He didn't want Puck to hear and come in. Not yet. Puck was right: they shouldn't rush. The mere fact that _Puck_ wanted to wait and do things right told Kurt that when they moved forward, it was going to be absolutely magical. He could wait. His life had turned a full 180 in the space of a week, and so he could wait to be with the man who'd promised him forever. He could wait.

He could wait at least a couple of days.

* * *

"Thanks for inviting me over, man," Mike said as he pitched the Nerf ball at Artie.

Artie snagged it out of the air and, without aiming, shot it at the basketball hoop hanging over his door. It rebounded off the rim. He grimaced, but Mike wordlessly scooped it up and tossed it for a second try. That one went in and Artie held up his hands in triumph. Mike applauded dutifully, laughing as Artie mimicked the roar of a cheering crowd. "Sorry," Artie said when his hands dropped. "I get a little stir-crazy in here, sometimes, when the weather's nice."

Artie's family was on the lower end of the pay scale among their friends. It was the sort of thing Mike never brought up, not least because he was near-certain that his parents made the most out of everyone by a significant margin. To give Artie wide hallways, a bedroom large enough to easily maneuver his chair within, and sidewalks that didn't have dense crowds blindly swinging their arms, they'd found a place in a part of Queens that none of Artie's friends particularly wanted to visit.

This summer had been Mike's first trip out there, to his shame. He'd grown up in a spacious loft in Tribeca and his parents were older than most of his friends'. Both had been stars hired out of CalTech and MIT for premiums over even what industry would pay, but it was only their age that let them live where they did. They'd purchased that space before Manhattan's real estate prices began to surge. Other neighbors came in later.

Before Mike had started going to school with their S.H.I.E.L.D. tutor, he'd been surrounded by the children of families who could afford to drop three or five million dollars on a new condo without blinking. They'd all been enrolled in the best talent classes since they were embryos, had preschool credentials better than most people's undergrad degrees, and grew up knowing that they lived in a world custom-made for people like them. It was a hard comparison to live up to. They were glossy show horses, groomed to perfection, and there was no room for error.

His parents pointed out that their loft looked a lot like a dance studio the first time they caught Mike trying out moves. He didn't want to let anyone see, though. That was just waiting to screw up. At his glossy show horse school, you _didn't screw up._

But now he was at Artie's, in Queens, and there was a spot on the wall that they'd missed painting and never bothered to fix. Mike kind of liked that. He kind of liked the ragtag group from that school that he'd now left behind. He should have gotten to be better friends with them while he had the chance, because going to Columbia would probably be another school filled with glossy show horses.

Artie mentioned something about wishing his room had a window, and Mike remembered the comment he'd made about going stir-crazy. Sitting up, he asked, "You want to go for a... um, go outside?"

"Go for a walk?" Artie asked dryly, but grinned when Mike tried to apologize. "Sure, let's go appreciate the scenery."

There was no scenery. Artie's home was close to major roads for his parents' commute, and that meant they were far away from anywhere that people would voluntarily choose to sightsee. Still, Artie had a smile on his face as he rolled down the sidewalk. _I hope they bring more employee kids to the school this year,_ Mike thought. Nearly everyone had graduated, just by happenstance. It'd be nice if Artie wasn't practically alone in there.

"So," Mike began, "when you graduate, you wanna come to Columbia?" Wow, he really _was_ scared of having to meet new people again.

"Oh, is it that easy?" Artie asked with a grin. "I'll just show up and they'll let me right in."

"I bet they would. You're a smart guy, Artie. And I think you really like doing, you know... brain stuff. Right?"

Artie shrugged. "Yeah, I like using my big ol' noodle. But mostly I want to do something that matters, and as much as I hate to admit it, getting the best raid gear on my warlock doesn't really count."

_Something that matters, huh?_ Artie's pet project, introduced a few days earlier, began to take on a sharper meaning. "Are you really that worried about Quinn?"

Artie grimaced. "I'm not sure how to answer. If I say yes, then I'm a weirdo worrying about a hot girl I went to school with, who's marrying someone else. If I say no, then I'm just using her to fill up my seriously boring days."

"She's your friend," Mike said, but Artie countered him with a look. Fair enough. To say that many of them had been 'friends' was definitely overstating things. Just throwing a bunch of kids into the same room together might introduce them, but it had done little to make them gel as a group. It certainly hadn't turned them into a collective group of friends. He ignored the 'hot' label Artie had put on Quinn; that was like describing the sun as bright. They all knew it.

Artie continued, "She's going to be one of thousands of people on the NYU campus, and she's probably going to leave right after classes to go home to her folks or her new boytoy, right?"

"Right."

"So even if this creepy superpowered stalker guy kills someone at school, odds are, it wouldn't be Quinn."

"Wait," Mike said. He'd missed that in their initial discussion, apparently. "Now he's superpowered?"

"That's what X-Factor thinks," Artie said. "Their web page alert changed to warn mutants in the area that even if they have powers, they might be overwhelmed."

"Yikes." They walked half a block in silence. "You're right," Mike finally began. "The odds are, Quinn is going to be one hundred percent okay."

"Those are the odds," Artie said.

So, they were both in perfect agreement. That mutant-killing freak would be taken in by the NYPD long before it attacked anyone on the NYU campus, now that it had come out of Mutant Town and into the neighborhoods that the police cared about. There was nothing they could do, besides, and it wasn't like Quinn was one of their close friends just begging for the two of them to look out for her. 

Yep. Mike could tell that they were in perfect agreement. "So," Mike said, "we'll go back to your place, start hunting for patterns, and tell Quinn what she needs to look out for?"

Artie grinned.

Even if they couldn't do anything, it was nice to feel like they were helping somehow. And even if they weren't that close to Quinn, she'd have to be happy that people were this concerned over her safety. Right? Right. Besides, these would be entertaining memories to pull out when Mike was staring in horror at the first equation-filled blackboard in his Columbia calculus class.

"Let's go back to my place," Artie said. "If you want, I'll call Mercedes again, since she's nearby."

"Can she bring food?" Mike asked. "If we're settling in for a long day, I think we need food."

"Are we settling in for a long day?" Artie wondered, but smiled as he asked. He looked happier than Mike had seen him in ages. "Then yeah. I'll ask her to stop by somewhere, and we'll figure out what's going on in Mutant Town."

Mike couldn't help himself. "You realize that if an actual bunch of investigators living there have no idea what's going on, we probably won't figure it out."

"This is not how you play fun investigator games, Mr. Chang."

"Sorry." Oops. He'd screwed up.

It actually wasn't that painful.

* * *

Only ten minutes after getting up, Puck knew that it would have been easier if they'd waited until Sunday night to go to the tar pits. They would have woken up on Monday with jobs to get to, instead of with a blank day ahead of them with little but temptation to fill it. Although they both slept late, in their own bedroom, awkwardness hung heavy in the living room when they made their way out. Neither man spoke. They communicated only in smiles.

Kurt caught Puck looking at him as he scrambled their eggs for breakfast, and flashed a quirky grin. Puck returned it dopily. Being in love with someone who didn't love you might be the worst feeling in the world, but loving someone and having it returned had to be the best. 

It seemed appropriate that this was all playing out in Los Angeles, a few scant miles from Hollywood. The background for how everything had happened was unbelievable, their new responsibilities ridiculous, and yet none of it mattered. The love itself felt like it should have its very own Aerosmith power ballad over every glance they shared. This was big stupid movie love.

On autopilot, Puck stood and walked to the kitchen. Kurt half-tensed, like he expected Puck to grab him and didn't know whether he wanted it or not. It was tempting, but Puck's hands kept on with what he'd intended to do: making coffee. The machine stymied him for a second. Puck's eyes narrowed and he studied all its parts. Right. Water in the reservoir, filter in the cradle, grounds measured out. It wasn't that hard, once he got going, and cups were ready for them when the toast popped up.

"So. We have a situation to deal with," Kurt said primly as he sat across from Puck and buttered his toast.

"Yeah," Puck said, sliding his foot across the linoleum. Kurt's pajama bottom was loose, and moved easily when he brushed it. It was a simple matter to slide his foot up the well-muscled calf and have the material come along for the ride.

Inhaling, Kurt closed his eyes and took a beat to collect himself. "That's not what I meant."

"I'm not pushing," Puck said and pulled back. Fuck; all that responsibility last night, and he could so easily throw it away. He wanted Kurt so badly that it hurt. Lying on that big empty bed the night before, his cock had been a stubborn iron rod jutting at the ceiling until he jerked himself off in a fantasy of sweat-shiny flesh and willing, open heat. It hadn't been enough. When he'd started to drift off, his first and most insistent fantasies morphed into gentler ones. A tender smile from lips that quirked at the very ends. Long, strong fingers tracing across his body and memorizing it like Puck was the most valuable thing on earth, and someone who Kurt actually cared about. Hearing "I love you" said a hundred different ways, from quick good-byes before work to utterances that were one step away from the soul-deep prayers he said at temple.

He'd gotten hard again as quickly as when he was dealing with an attention-whore dick in junior high. When he actually got to play out all his fantasies with Kurt, he'd probably last as pathetically short a time as he had during that first year of puberty, jerking off. With the old Kurt, that would cause trouble. He'd laugh, sneer, or do something that made Puck's junk feel like it wanted to crawl right up inside him. (He was happier about it now that Kurt loved him back, but Puck was still pathetically whipped.) The Kurt looking at him that morning was okay, though. Puck could be weak or open in front of him and not feel like he'd have to answer for it the next day.

Maybe that was what love and trust was all about. 

He liked it.

"What I meant," Kurt said after a long pause, "was that we need to figure out a way to give ourselves powers. Safely, without ending up as some slime beast oozing our way down I-10."

"So no taking a trip to Cher-whatsit. The nuclear place in Russia."

"I'd rather avoid that, yes," Kurt said and took a precise bite of toast.

Puck frowned. New York was crawling with heroes. It had to be pretty easy to get powers, considering how it felt like the masks in that city were only slightly outnumbered by the people. "Lab experiments gone wrong?"

"It's a possibility," Kurt allowed, "but what labs would we look at? It's not like we have access to anything out here." He frowned and his fingertips began to tap the table. "We don't even know what sort of danger the world is in, so how do we know what powers we should have?"

"We could ask Varinka again," Puck said.

"We could, but she was already pretty intent on us saving everyone. I have to think that she would have told us something to help, there." Kurt's chin sunk into his hand. "She does live in the world, after all. She'd want us to save her life, too."

"Okay," Puck said, "I've got an idea. We get everyone here, like we're supposed to do, and then we go back to the crazy tar pits kids and we just ask Nico to give us powers with her stick. That'd do it, right?"

"That might work," Kurt said, smiling. Puck's heart swelled. "It's a backup plan, anyway. I got the feeling that we were supposed to have powers before people got here, but I could have just been trying to pick things apart too much. Well, let's call that our goal for the day, then. We'll try to find ways to get powers, and if we can't think of anything, then we'll still have your Nico idea." His foot bumped against Puck's calf and he smiled.

Puck smiled back. Goddammit, he was _gone._

After they'd tidied up, Kurt went into his room to hunt for possible power avenues and Puck stayed out on the couch with a pad of paper and a frown. Two hours of work, inspired by everything he'd clicked through on television and his own memories of New York heroes, turned up far too few plausible options. 

_1\. Bitten by radioactive whatever? Check if we can find a radioactive mountain lion. Badass._   
_2\. Magic. Bug Nico like I thought? Or find another magician. Gay Doogie does magic, right?_   
_3\. Super suit. Probably won't work. Would smash Kurt's hair._

It went on like that until he hit his latest suggestion.

_26\. Magic rings. Need a fifth person. I'm not being heart._

At some point sense had taken a holiday and it couldn't be more obvious that he needed a mental break. Puck set aside his pad and walked into Kurt's room, coming up behind him as he tapped on his computer. "Any luck?"

"It's surprisingly hard to find secret government labs when your parents don't work for them," Kurt grumbled, not looking up.

"Yeah, it's almost like they're secret or something," Puck said. Almost on their own, his hands found Kurt's shoulders and began a slow, steady attack on the tension they held. "It'll be okay. It's not like the world's gonna end tomorrow if we can't figure this out."

"We don't actually know that," Kurt said. "Varinka didn't really give us a timeline."

"Oh." Puck's hands kept working, as he didn't have an answer for that. "Well, uh, anyway, take a break. You're not going to find anything if your brain's fried, and it's been a pretty crazy week."

"Mmm." Kurt's head lolled back. His face was blissfully slack. He looked so different when he didn't have his mask on that he showed to the world. "The girls are back from touring this week. It's going to be a nightmare catching up."

"So relax," Puck suggested with a few particularly hard strokes of his thumbs against the base of Kurt's neck. Wow, he really didn't want to stop touching him, now that he'd started. "Uh, let me do your back?"

Kurt twisted around and gave him a look that was half-amused, half-scandalized.

"Let me massage your back with my hands. Above the ass. No ass."

"Tease," Kurt said, but laid down on his bed and cradled his head on his folded arms. Puck began working his hands across the broad shoulders, tight with all the stress Kurt had been leading since he moved to Los Angeles... and perhaps, since he'd started growing up into a person his father wasn't happy to see. As his hands kneaded through the tension, Kurt began to twist and shift his weight like that was helping it leave. Whenever he adjusted himself, he looked more boneless when he finished, and soon gave Puck the impression of a cat stretched indulgently in a sunbeam. 

"Thanks," Kurt said drowsily when Puck finally drew to a stop. He could have kept on touching Kurt forever like that, but it had reached the point where he was concerned about kneading him into a fine paste. He sat up (lurched up, really), and asked, "Want me to do you?"

_Fuck yes._ Puck bit down his reply. "Sure."

"Okay," Kurt said, leaning forward to kiss him. His hands were on Puck's shoulders when he pulled away, but that barely felt like the point any more. 

Their mouths met again, searching and gentle, and Puck slowly leaned back under the slight pressure. He felt himself sinking into the soft mattress as Kurt rolled wholly on top of him, and it was an embrace that he never wanted to leave. The first time he'd supported Kurt's weight, it had taken him by surprise. There was more muscle there than he'd expected, and the body against his was a solid, supple slab of heat. Now, that heat mingled with the warmth of summer and the disbelieving joy in his chest to leave him as a puddle on the bed. He was whipped. If Kurt wanted to give him a collar with his name on a little tag, he'd wear it without flinching. Anything to stay right there, forever.

For the first time, Puck felt like the most important person in someone's life. A guy didn't just throw that away.

The only bit of sense left in his head was still, still not wanting Kurt to do something they both might regret if they discovered this was some magical hangover. Hangovers didn't last forever. "I'm gonna take you out on a real date," Puck promised. "We'll do something that you like, and I'll... you know."

"You'll... what?" Kurt asked. He looked delightfully innocent, and perhaps a bit scandalized. 

Puck grinned as he realized where Kurt's mind must be going: to the multitude of sex acts that he thought Puck must know by heart, and Kurt only knew as some vague theory in a book that he'd never gotten up the courage to read. He'd meant that he'd have Kurt swooning in his arms from doing all those things he wanted, romance and courting and all that old-timey shit, but Puck liked this interpretation, too. "I'll give you the whole night you'd want before...." His voice dropped in pitch. "You know."

"You're really serious about this," Kurt realized. As he looked down at Puck, a lock of hair fell loose across his forehead. Puck moved it with his thumb, so it wouldn't block the view he had into those wide eyes.

"It's about the only thing I've figured out how to be serious about," Puck admitted. This responsibility had hit him like a sledgehammer, but with it, it brought what felt like a lot of practiced knowledge. He was taking it seriously because he _knew_ how to be serious.

Kurt kissed the corner of his mouth. "Okay. I will let you seduce me, Mr. Puckerman."

"Cool." Puck's arm snaked securely around him. Kurt went with it gladly, and snuggled against who might actually be his boyfriend as they drifted into a short nap before the second round of powers-hunting. _Boyfriend,_ Puck thought with a lazy grin as his eyelids sealed shut. He could deal with that.

_Why'd you set the alarm?_ Puck wondered when he climbed back out of sleep forty minutes later and felt Kurt stirring. A loud, obnoxious ringing filled his sleep-slow head, and it took him a few beats to realize that it wasn't the alarm clock. The doorbell was screaming for attention.

"It must be Santana or Brittany," Kurt said with a yawn, climbing off Puck and popping an Altoid into his mouth. He checked his hair in the mirror and sighed, resigned. Puck tagged along after him to hear what the girls had already discovered, but when Kurt opened the door and Puck saw a sliver of a face, it wasn't Santana or Brittany.

"Finn," Kurt said, startled.

Finn grinned. "You wanted me to come visit, right?" He lifted his suitcase. "I mentioned it to Dad and he said it was a good idea for me to take a break, since I've been working so hard on finding a job. I guess tickets are expensive when you buy them this close, but they said they didn't mind." His smile brightened. "Plus, he said that if you found a job out here, then I could get one, too."

Kurt's smile was a pained act, despite looking genuinely happy to see his brother. Of course his father would think that if _he_ had managed to find a job, then the _better_ son easily could. Puck's fist balled, even though it was thousands of miles from the man who'd damaged Kurt so deeply and not cared enough about him to notice. "Sure. That makes sense." Inferiority began to creep back into him and rage surged in Puck's. He stepped into view and glowered at Finn.

Finn glowered back. "So you weren't kidding about him staying here," he muttered.

"No." Kurt wrapped his arms around himself. "Please don't fight, you two. Look, Finn, we've caught up with Santana and Brittany. Maybe you want to stay with one of them? Or get a hotel room? It might make things easier."

"You're kicking me out and letting him stay?" Finn asked, disbelieving. "I'm your brother, dude."

"And Puck is living here permanently, and..." Finn's offense grew, and Kurt wilted. "And please just don't fight? Fine, you can stay, but just don't fight." He looked between them. "I know you had an argument, but let's be nice while you're here. All right?"

Puck and Finn nodded grudgingly, though Finn was clearly only doing so for Kurt's sake. Which was fair. That was the only reason Puck agreed, too.

"There's the couch," Kurt said, gesturing to it. "It's comfortable."

"I have to stay on the couch?" Finn asked. "Really? I thought you had a roommate who ditched you."

"And now he has a new roommate who has his own room," Puck said.

"You don't count."

"It's my bed, so I kinda do."

"No," Finn said, " _you_ don't count after you said that Rachel was gonna be a big star and I was weighing her down while she was trying. Nothing you says matters. Ever."

Rachel's dumbfuck move in New York might have necessitated her move to London, but still, Rachel Berry was a person made up entirely of ego, clumsy friendship, and blinding, blazing talent. She was going to be world famous some day, and yeah, Finn demanding her attention when she was trying to go to auditions wasn't going to help there. Puck had known Rachel longer than Finn, and even as he recognized that she could pretty much define the term 'selfish' sometimes, in the end, he'd side with her when they were both being idiots.

All of that wanted to come out of Puck's mouth to slap Finn upside the head, but the adult version of him who'd shown up after the dinosaur managed to bite his tongue. Being a responsible adult sucked.

"Finn," Kurt said in a low, tight voice, "you can sleep in Puck's room. Please, just let this all go."

Puck shot Kurt a wounded look despite himself. Kurt wasn't supposed to side with Finn over Puck. Sure, they were twins and all, but he'd never kissed his twin, or nearly ridden his leg to an orgasm. (He really hoped so, anyway.) The 'forever' love of his life should take priority. 

The smirk on Finn's face slid away when Kurt continued, "Puck, you'll sleep with me while Finn's here. Okay?"

Puck took over smirking, and Finn glared at him. "What?" Puck asked, and ran his tongue across his lips lasciviously, like he and Kurt had just finished fucking each other into the mattress two minutes before Finn showed up. The disgusted, angered look he got was totally worth it, even if he had promised to play nice while Finn was around.

"I'm gonna put my stuff away," Finn finally said, eying the two of them. Kurt pointed him to the right door and he vanished through it, and didn't return for a while. Good. 

"People need to stop showing up at my door unannounced with suitcases in hand," Kurt sighed as he went to the kitchen and started going through their food options. "I need to make something. I'm sure he's hungry. He's always hungry, and he eats more than you do."

"Does he seriously need to stay here?" Puck half-whined as Kurt pulled on an apron, poured pasta sauce into a pan, and began thawing some meatballs in the oven. Ground beef browned in another pan.

Kurt whipped around with a spoon that, thankfully, hadn't yet dipped into the sauce. "Puck, please. I love you. I also love him. And I know your big thundering macho egos are bruised right now, but we have bigger things on our plate to focus on. I need you both to play nice."

Puck grumbled.

"Play nice," Kurt said, and poked him in the chest with the spoon. "Remember, we're trying to save the world?"

"Fine." Puck folded his arms so Kurt wouldn't do that again. "Powers. Finding the seals and anchor and...." Trailing off, he looked at the door where Finn was still presumably unpacking. Intently, he asked, "When Finn and I fought, I said he was holding Rachel down. Do you think he's the anchor?"

Kurt studied the door. "I suppose it's a possibility. And it would make sense that he's one of the big important _things_ that'll save everyone."

"Hey," Puck murmured, and pulled him close when those words came out a bit too bitter. "Stop it. I know you're bros and everything, but you can be angry at how your dad acts around you two. And you're way better than him." That seemed to go too far; for all of Finn's rampant idiocy and self-absorption, Kurt really did love and look up to him. With his father keeping him at arm's length and Finn being treated as older and wiser by everyone just because of his body, he'd almost replaced their dad as a male role model for Kurt. Puck retreated to, "There's a lot of stuff you're better on."

Kurt managed to smile.

"And remember, _you're_ saving the world, right? Not him."

"You're right." Kurt sighed. "You're right. This will all be okay. And maybe Finn really is the anchor while we save the world, however we're supposed to do it, and he'll be... holding people in place? Ugh, I wish Varinka had told us what all of this actually meant. I wish she'd told me that Finn was going to show up."

"Hey, are you talking about me?" Finn asked as he rejoined them in the apartment's large central room.

Kurt pulled away from Puck and stirred the sauce as it warmed. "I'm making spaghetti bolognese. I'll make enough for leftovers, so have as much as you like."

"Seriously," Finn asked, "were you guys talking about me?"

"We can't just stop working on this because Finn's here," Puck whispered. "I mean. The world. Ending. That's kind of important."

"Kurt," Finn said, eying Puck sidelong, "bro, are you hiding something?"

"Why do you ask?" Kurt asked, with absolutely no poker face. Goddamn. His face was pretty, but it couldn't hide things for _shit._

"Kurt. Come on."

Kurt looked at Puck and they both relented. However Finn had actually noticed their secrecy, his suspicions clearly weren't going away until they told him the truth, or at least a plausible excuse. "There are... things going on, Finn," Kurt said. "It's complicated and it would take a very long time to explain. We were actually going to tell you soon, but we just hadn't figure out how to do that, yet."

"Please don't say you're pregnant."

Kurt stared at him. 

Finn stared back, his brow furrowed.

"What is wrong with you?" Kurt demanded.

"What?"

Kurt's mouth thinned. "I'm your brother, moron." 

Puck smirked at Kurt's words and tried to hide it.

Finn shrugged. "This just sounded like the 'I'm pregnant' speech. And you're gonna be in the same bed, so I guess you two are doing it. Plus, I didn't know if it could happen anyway if you get splooged in, since guys don't normally do that."

"I don't even know how to begin telling you everything that's wrong with what you just said," Kurt said tightly, but oh, it sounded like he wanted to.

Finn's head tilted. "So you're not pregnant."

"I changed my mind," Kurt said, though he didn't sound wholly serious. "I want you to get a hotel room."

"Okay, then is this about the drugs?"

Kurt gawked at him. "What drugs?"

Finn pulled a baggie out of his loose jeans, where it had looked like he'd piled his wallet, phone, and a spare sandwich all into one pocket. The bag was filled with small slippery capsules. "I found this under the mattress in there. It was a big lump when I sat down." He eyed Puck suspiciously. "Or wait, is it his?"

"Oh god," Kurt groaned. "I knew Francis had to have left something behind. He left way too quickly. You didn't notice that, Puck? It's huge."

Puck shrugged. "It was probably on the other side of the bed. I only ever take the right side."

"No, Finn," Kurt said as he methodically collected the full bag of abandoned drugs, set it on the counter, and retrieved the meatballs. In they went to simmer in the sauce, and he stirred and drained the ground beef to add to it. "This is not about the drugs that my terrible roommate left, which I will now have to identify and dispose of without getting arrested. This is about... we had a run-in with some heroes in town, and things got a little crazy. We'll start from there, all right?"

"And then a fortuneteller told you that you needed to gets superpowers and save the world, right," Finn said. "And we both agreed she was full of shit."

Kurt's mouth hung open before he managed to pull it back into a smile. "Oh. Right. I forgot I told you that. Um."

_Great,_ Puck thought. How the hell were they supposed to bring Finn up to speed on everything if he'd already heard the basics and written them off as impossible?

"I... I'm going to see what these drugs are," Kurt said, grabbing the bag. "I need to know how many blocks away I'll feel comfortable walking before I look for a dumpster. One of you, keep stirring the sauce. I'll put the noodles on when I get back."

Puck dutifully took over. The apartment was picking up the scents of the meal by that point, and although he'd had a big breakfast that nearly counted as lunch, it made him hungry again. Plus, if he kept stirring, he didn't need to look at Finn.

"You'd better not hurt him," Finn said, leaning against the counter. 

"I'm not planning on it." Puck kept stirring and bit down on the reply he really wanted to give, of how Finn had no idea how much he'd hurt Kurt. That was Finn's whole problem, wasn't it? He ambled through life like some thick-skinned elephant and didn't notice the people getting crushed under his giant elephant feet. "I love him."

"You do not."

Anger flared and Puck whipped around to correct him. This time the wooden spoon had been in the pasta sauce, and tomato splatters landed on Finn's shirt. Shit.

"Asshole," Finn snapped as he looked up from the ruined material.

"It wasn't on purpose! You don't get to tell me I don't love him. Try it again, and I'll cram this whole thing down your throat," Puck said, wielding the utensil like a sword. 

"Oh yeah," Finn said, snorting. "You sound like a guy who's definitely not going to hurt _anyone._ "

"I'd cut my arm off before I hurt him," Puck said, and took a step closer. "And if you keep telling me that I'm gonna, then I'll beat you to death with it before I bleed out."

"Boy, I guess he's found that Prince Charming he always talked to Rachel about," Finn said with a smirk. It was the face of someone who knew that, no matter what, his opinion was right. It took real effort on Puck's part not to cram the spoon up Finn's left nostril. Wide end first.

"Stop it!" Kurt said, and shoved them apart. Neither had noticed him coming back into the room and he'd walked on soft cat feet in his socks. "Oh my god, I told you that you have to get along!"

They stepped further apart, guilty. "Sorry," Finn muttered. "I'll be good. Don't make me get a hotel room. Dad didn't give me enough money for that."

"Sorry," Puck said. He pointed to the stove. "I kept stirring like you wanted."

Kurt retrieved the spoon and took over the work. No sooner had he given the pan a few firm swipes than he turned back around, and only then did Puck see the shock written on his face. "What?" Puck asked. "What's wrong?"

"I...." Kurt looked at Finn, and made the decision to carry on regardless of his presence. He turned his attention back to Puck and said, "I looked up what those pills were. They were stamped with a number and it popped right up in Google. I hadn't expected that it'd be so easy, but the pictures people had posted looked exactly like these, and so I'm pretty sure that I'm right."

"Okay," Puck said slowly. "Is it going to get you in a lot of trouble if you get caught? Is that why you're freaking out?"

"No. I mean, yes, we're not supposed to have these, but I wanted to make sure that it really was what I thought it was." Finn tried to ask him what was going on, but Kurt held up his hand. "If I'm right, and I really think I am... that's a huge bag full of MGH."

"What's MGH?" Puck and Finn asked, then glared at the other.

"Mutant Growth Hormone."

That still meant nothing to either of them.

Kurt lowered his voice like the police might find them, and cast furtive glances back toward his room before he explained, "It gives people superpowers."

_Oh._ Well. No wonder Varinka's visions hadn't bothered to let them know how to empower themselves.

That old roommate might have just left an even better present than a high-definition television.


	7. Purpose

The MGH pills sat in front of them like tiny felonies in the making.

"So, what kind of powers can we get from these?" Puck asked, bending over so his eyes were level with the bag.

"I don't know," Kurt said, mentally calculating exactly how many years he could get for possession of such a huge stash. Did the police really care about MGH? Their budget was tight, but these were an awful lot of potential threats if some actual criminal went to town with the powers they granted. 

Finn reached to touch one and Kurt slapped his fingers away. "Why'd you pick a roomie who brings all this crap into the house?" Finn asked as he pulled his hand back.

"Well, I didn't know it at the time!" 

"Do people really do this stuff at parties?" Finn wondered. He poked at the outside of the bag this time, and Kurt let him.

"Apparently. They probably think it's fun to play with powers while they're high on... whatever they take. I was always in my room or out of the apartment when they really got going, so I don't know!" Kurt protested when Finn and Puck both looked at him dubiously, like there was no way he couldn't possibly have a full list of every drug that had been taken off that coffee table. He had been a responsible young man, keeping away from the drugs and the Los Angeles party scene, and he was not about to be looked at like that. The most he'd ever done was dance with a couple of guys in West Hollywood and get his leg broken by a preteen starlet. _He was not exciting._

"Well, I guess we should tell Santana and Brittany, and get going on this," Puck said.

"I guess." Kurt swallowed. "Let's not do it tonight, though. Or tomorrow. I can't take dealing with Monday _and_ giving myself illegal superpowers."

"Wait," Finn said. "You're actually going to do this? Dude, no, you have to throw them out. I'm not going to let you get arrested because your brain is that fried drug egg in the pan. Here, I'll do it."

Puck's hand shot out and grabbed Finn's wrist when he reached for the bag. Although Finn glared at him, he held on.

"We have to do this, Finn," Kurt said, and wondered how he could possibly tell him everything that had happened. Honesty seemed to be the best policy. "What I told you about that psychic... it was all true."

"But what she said was stupid. We went over this."

"I love him."

"No you don't," Finn said, sounding for all the world like some five year old protesting that girls had cooties.

Puck pulled Kurt into a kiss and the world fell away. There was only the feeling of their bodies pressed together, the beating of two hearts, warm lips parting to meet. "Yeah," Kurt said breathlessly when they stepped back. "I do. I fell back in love with him, just like she said would happen."

Finn looked like he'd eaten a bad burrito for lunch.

"We found everything she said, right down to the dinosaur and the girl with the magical stick, and we know that we have to save the world. There are superheroes under the La Brea Tar Pits, and we found them because that psychic told us. She knows things, Finn."

"But why would someone expect _you_ to save the world?" Finn asked.

Kurt's jaw set. "I don't know, maybe because she actually has faith that I can?"

"Oh geez, don't get like this. I never know if you're going to start going all bitchy when I say the wrong thing."

"Then stop saying the wrong thing?" Puck suggested. "And yeah, the four of us—me, Kurt, and the girls, _not_ you—are gonna save the world."

Finn struggled with what he was was being told, then for an answer. He finally landed on a sulky, "I'm going to bed."

_Thank god._ "Give me a hug," Kurt said, holding out his arms. With the relief of the argument not building any further, he could find it in himself to be the mature one. Again. "Finn, we're not going to sleep mad at each other. Give me a hug." The one offered was too weak, and he pulled Finn in more firmly until he returned it. "Okay. I'll talk to you tomorrow, and I love you."

"Love you, too," Finn said like pulling teeth. With one last baleful look at Puck, he closed himself into his bedroom.

"Come on," Kurt said after a few beats of staring at the closed door. "You have an early day tomorrow."

Thankfully, Puck was still in his responsible mode and didn't try to push him for anything that night. Finn's arrival had dimmed Kurt's libido remarkably. Falling asleep together was wonderful, though, and felt like coming home to a warm house after a walk through a long winter. Kurt drifted away to the feeling of Puck's fingers in his hair. He held onto awareness of that as long as he could, and it lingered in his dreams.

* * *

"Stop," Kurt laughed against Puck's mouth the next morning. "We have to stop, or you are going to be late for your first day at work."

"Do we really care that much about me having a job?" Puck asked. His broad hands skimmed down Kurt's back and cupped what they found.

Even when they'd kissed back in New York, even when they'd made out on that couch, Puck had never grabbed him like _that._ Kurt felt blood rise in his face as he stepped back. The heat of Puck's fingers on his bottom lingered. It wasn't that he minded, but it wasn't the right mindset to have on a Monday morning. "You having a job will pay for this place. I mean... help pay for this place. And so will my job. That I need to get to. So let's both get to our jobs and then we'll come home and we'll figure everything out. I'm babbling."

"Yeah. You do that." Kurt blushed more fiercely, but Puck continued with a grin, "It's cute."

_He thinks I'm cute,_ Kurt thought in a goofy haze as he somehow got the door locked and made it to the sidewalk without tripping over his own feet. Only when he arrived at his pick-up spot did he realize that Puck's day had started two hours before his, and that Alan wouldn't be by to pick him up until then. He'd risen with Puck without thinking about what he was doing.

Normally, Kurt would have hated himself for a stupid mistake. He was already assigned so much fault that he couldn't do anything about: the way he loved, the way he sounded, the way he looked. Any actual mistake on his part was a bruise, deep and dark, that he couldn't help but prod. With Finn around, those bruises threatened to return, even as his brother had no idea what he was doing. Puck's adoration and the sense of purpose from their adventures at the tar pits overwhelmed the concern, and with a shrug, Kurt walked back home to get another hour's sleep.

"Do you not have work?" Finn asked, having gotten up between the two of them leaving and Kurt coming back. Right, he was on Eastern Time. He'd probably waited in his room until Puck was gone, at what would only seem like an early day to someone on Pacific.

"I was too early." Kurt glanced at the clock, and then at the window. "Way too early." The girls needed to film at sunset, so the crew wasn't going in at its usual hour. 

"Are the two of you seriously together?" Finn asked, with an expression like the milk in his cereal had gone sour.

"Yes. And stop asking me this! You know by now."

"You could do a lot better," Finn said, slipping into a lecturing tone.

Kurt's eyes flashed. "I do not want to hear it. I love him."

The words landed like a slap and Finn marched his way through the rest of his cereal. When done, he set the damp and empty bowl on the coffee table. Kurt wordlessly put it in the dishwasher. "So, are you really gonna mess around with that MGH stuff?" Finn asked. "Because I don't think you should."

"It's a bad idea, I know," Kurt said as he tidied the apartment. The idea of another hour's sleep had slipped away when Finn was waiting for him and wanted to talk. "But I might have to chase the occasional bad idea to take care of... of what I need to take care of." He still had no idea what four seals, a chain, and an anchor was supposed to mean. Why couldn't people give street addresses instead of symbolism?

Finn made another face as he realized that Kurt wasn't going to give him the full details. "Fine. But promise me you'll take me along on whatever you're doing?" When Kurt began to protest, he cleared his throat. "You nearly got killed by people with superpowers. Remember, you said that, too? Well, want me to tell Mom and Dad about it?"

Anger flared hot. "Now you're blackmailing me?"

"Um, more like you're doing crazy stuff that could get you really hurt, with people you shouldn't even hang around with, and so someone needs to take care of you. So, either listen to me and let me hang out with you, or I'll tell Mom and Dad." Finn smiled his clueless smile. "I'm just trying to look out for you, bro."

If it had just been a matter of their parents, Kurt might have rolled those dice. His father already saw him as a disappointment; what would downing a few handfuls of controlled drugs do to that assessment, really? Unfortunately, those parents worked for the government. Not only would they take a harsh view of what Kurt was about to do, but they'd know exactly how to report it and which agencies would see the speediest response. "Fine," Kurt seethed.

"Good," Finn said. "Hey, do you think you could help me find a job out here, since we're talking?"

It seemed about ninety percent certain that his brother had been less obnoxious before Kurt got his own place and became used to living on his own.

"Since you said that they like you on set, I bet you could tell them to hire me," Finn added.

_I had my own little accidental blackmail session there, and I don't think they'd appreciate me pushing anything from my broken leg much further._ Kurt swallowed his protest. "All I can really do is see if they need extras. And honestly, you're supposed to sign up with an agency or something so they can call you through that—"

"Cool, thanks!"

"All right," Kurt said, resigned. "I'm going to try to take a little nap, after all." He was exhausted, suddenly. Yes, he loved his brother, but it was like trying to manage a large, determined puppy even on the best days. "Be ready in an hour."

* * *

As expected, production wasn't thrilled to have Finn pawned off on them, especially when he stood out so much in a crowd and wasn't familiar with the flow of filming. "It's just for today," Kurt murmured. "If he can't deal, you don't have to call him back. Thank you."

The assistants nodded, mollified that the favor he was asking would only last one day, and Kurt gave Finn a thumbs-up as he left for the wardrobe offices. Finn returned it with a smile.

His heels clicked rapidly against the pavement as Kurt headed toward the main production building. He'd suited up that morning in more formal clothing than usual, like armor, but even his slickest loafers and most well-pressed shirt felt like they were barely holding him together. _MGH. Powers. Finn. Puck. A big bag of MGH in my apartment, right now. Drugs. A bag of them. Superpowers. Cops._

He probably should have worn lighter clothing; even inside in the air conditioning, he was still sweating.

Determined not to let his nerves about everything show, Kurt steeled himself to the steely disdain that he'd used so often in childhood. It wasn't the best attitude to pull when working with a girl young enough that she'd just started needing a bra (he worked in wardrobe; he knew things), but fortunately, Sky Matthews was sweet enough that she was able to distract him.

"I like this," she said as she pulled her skirt's hem to its full width, inspecting it.

Kurt smirked. The twins' next script had them getting invited to their first dance, and they were supposed to look pretty. Apparently, he'd struck the right line between looking modern and making his girl feel like a princess. "You can go ahead and twirl, if you want to."

Sky debated it for about two seconds, then twirled. "I feel like Katniss," she giggled.

Kurt recognized the character reference, had no idea what on earth she meant by the twirling reference, and let it slide. They worked through the rest of her fitting peacefully, even when he accidentally pricked her in the side with a pin when he took in a waist. "All done," he said at the end, when all her new clothes were marked for alterations. "I think you have a read-through soon, right?"

"Yeah. I don't have many lines, but they want me there." Sky caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her freckled nose wrinkled as she touched her hair, which was a tangled mess after all the clothing changes. Kurt took the hint and found a brush. _Of course you don't have many lines,_ he thought as he worked through a tangle, and tried not to think of Finn and their father.

The twins were cute girls who were likely to grow into stunning adults. Unlike him, they were part of a matched physical set. If they wanted to be told apart, they had to work at it. Sky had sleek espresso hair halfway down her back. It was left natural, unlike Juniper's famously highlighted shoulder-length cut. Well, that was fine. Even if Juniper had little girls asking for her hair, braids were trendy, too, and he'd had a lot of practice on Rachel and Tina.

"When you're all grown up," Kurt said as his fingers nimbly interlaced strands of her hair in a complicated herringbone pattern, "you can have whatever job you want, live with whoever you want to live with, and spend time with only the people you like. You don't have to see your family at all if you don't want to." Sky was quiet for long enough that Kurt was able to finish her braid, secure it, and walk around to meet her eyes. "What's wrong, sweetie?"

"June's not bad. I know everyone thinks she is, but she's not." Sky bit her lip. "I just don't want people to hate her."

Kurt's mouth worked wordlessly for a second before he managed, "I don't hate her." 

"She sent you to the hospital," Sky said with the 'duh' tone that only a girl her age could manage. 

"I don't... all right, she's not my favorite person," Kurt admitted. He had to say something. "But I don't _hate_ her." He reserved hate for certain politicians and, in weak moments, family members that he loved a minute later. He just thought that spoiled little child was incredibly annoying.

"She's a better singer and dancer than I am," Sky said with no resentment in her voice. "Mom and Dad saw it when we were growing up. And I see it. Everyone loves her when they watch her. It's okay."

"I have heard you perform," Kurt informed her as he gathered her things. "And you have great vocal control. Especially for a twelve year old. You are going to be a big, big star."

"I turned thirteen last week," Sky said.

Oh, damn. He probably should have known that. And Juniper probably expected a birthday present. "For thirteen, too," Kurt quickly said. "And happy birthday."

"Thanks," she said with a grin. Her clear retainer was only visible up close like this, and only if you knew to look for it. She pulled out her iPhone and quickly took an Instagram picture of herself. Apparently, the braid styling was a success.

"Come on," Kurt decided as he looked around. With no idea how late Finn might be filming, if they'd actually given him something to do, starting these alterations didn't seem immediately pressing. "I'll walk you to the reading."

Finn had indeed been given something to do. Either that, or when they stumbled on him between two soundstages, he'd grown delusions of becoming a lot cop and found the outfit to match. "Hey!" Finn said, and gestured proudly at himself. "I'm an officer!"

"Great," Kurt said, and tried to recall the script for the episode in production. He did remember a call for security outfits, and so this must be when they would film extras trying to break into the party with Sky and Juniper. Most people would think it was ridiculous to have actual police officers holding back preteens trying to get into a party, but Kurt's 'ridiculous' meter had been undergoing a slow recalibration ever since he moved to Los Angeles. Now, he was just happy that they'd found something to give Finn a day's pay. "Come by the wardrobe office when you're done, okay? I'll just keep working until then, and I guess we'll call a cab to get home."

"Cool! Then we can talk about doing the stuff soon, right?"

Kurt nearly tripped and just bit back a swear word in front of the famous thirteen year old. _Perfect, Finn; talk about the illegal drugs in front of a girl with her hand on the social media trigger._ "Yes, the _stuff_. I need to get her to this reading, now, bye."

"Who was that?" Sky asked after they'd rounded a corner. 

"My brother," Kurt said. It came out like a sigh.

"He's too tall," Sky said. "He looks like he's going to fall over."

Kurt laughed. "Only if he walks into a wall again. He does that, sometimes."

She giggled and Kurt resisted the urge to come up with more stories about Finn. _We should have a clubhouse,_ he thought as he held open the door for Sky and gestured her grandly inside. _The Red-Headed Second Twin Club._ God, it was good that Puck had shown up. Kurt really couldn't handle his best friend in that city being a thirteen year old.

The sound of music ahead made Sky's pace slow. "We just finished all our concerts," she muttered. "I thought she'd give it a rest."

Sure enough, the faint strains of Juniper singing along to one of their recent hits (number one on iTunes Digital Downloads) were floating through the hallway. It was coming from their destination, meaning that all the big people in production were probably serving as an attentive audience. "My best friend is incredibly talented," Kurt said after a moment's thought. "I mean, I know I'm great, too, but sometimes I would feel like I was just... getting blasted with a fire hose when she was near."

"Yeah, I get that," Sky said dully.

"But I can do lots of good things, and so I have a great job while she's still trying to land her very first role. And my parents like my brother better than me, but I'm doing better than him. Okay? Things'll work out for you. I promise."

"You promise?" Sky asked. Her clear green eyes were achingly sincere.

"I _promise,_ " Kurt said, and offered her his hand again. "And besides, your haircut is classic, and she's gonna have to get extensions as soon as she gets bored with that cut." That made her grin, and they shared the expression all the way to the conference room. 

When he pushed the door open, Juniper Matthews' voice came at him full-blast. 

She was so much better than Sky. 

Kurt had no idea what he was thinking, promising Sky that she could come anywhere close to Juniper's fame. Juniper might be a little brat, but oh, she could _sing_ , and dance and act and deliver her lines like an Oscar winner in the making. Just looking at her, Kurt could barely even remember the pain she'd put him through. By the time she hit Rachel's age, a 'fire hose of talent' wouldn't come close to what she'd be doing. This girl was the tidal wave from Deep Impact, and it was no wonder that the whole world fell in love with her all over again whenever they heard her voice.

Dammit.

"Have a good reading," Kurt said when Juniper finished performing and his head began to clear. He could once again remember the way she'd split his shin bone and the screeched demands made of her assistants. Kurt ducked out of the room before Juniper could begin her lines and his traitorous mind began thinking that she was some unholy mix of Jodie Foster in Taxi Driver and Kirsten Dunst playing that scary little vampire.

It wasn't encouraging, being reminded of Sky's inferior status, but he worked dutifully at his alterations until Finn arrived. It was nearly seven, Kurt saw, and texted Puck to order food for all of them with a short apology for not checking the time sooner. "So, how was work?" Kurt asked as he called for a taxi and gathered his things.

"Really cool! I got a line." Finn cleared his throat and intoned, "'Hey, you, back up!'" He shrugged. "They had someone else say it in the end, but they said it was because he was sagging or something? I guess they were just trying to cheer him up."

"I'm sure it was just because he already had a SAG card," Kurt agreed, and quietly thanked his co-workers for managing his brother's ego well. "Are you coming in tomorrow?"

"Yeah, they have a few more shots they need. It sounds like this extra work isn't very steady, but hey, at least there's two days, right?" Finn shot him that loving look that reminded him of long conversations late at night, support when he needed it, and all the best wishes for when he moved out to Los Angeles. Kurt's Juniper-fueled stress began to ease. "Thanks for helping me out, man."

"Glad to," Kurt said. 

Things went so well at the studio that he forgot that Finn and Puck still wanted to punch each other.

"Honey," Kurt said, and kissed Puck determinedly in front of Finn, "I'm home."

Puck looked right at Finn, grinned, and squeezed Kurt's ass again. "I ordered Chinese. We had all that leftover spaghetti, too, so we're covered for... a day or two."

To his minor credit, Finn looked annoyed at their display but said nothing. He continued to say nothing when Kurt practically sat on Puck's lap, or when they fed each other off their plate.

He clearly wanted to, but he didn't.

Fine. They could work with that.

* * *

Despite its awkward setting, Artie's home somehow became Mike's new hangout in less than a week. Mercedes was close, too, and with two boys there, there was enough social gravity to draw her in whenever they called. _Maybe I could ask her out,_ Mike thought as he snuck a glance. _I don't think she's dating anyone._

Of course, why would they go out? She was starting at Rice in a month. That application decision had been made during an awful cold snap, when Mercedes declared that she was only applying to places that never dipped below forty. (After rubbing his running nose raw, Mike had also found himself applying to Auburn and Duke. Warmth seemed very appealing.) She was headed for Texas while he was staying in New York, and soon another member of their class would leave behind the little social group they'd once had.

Mike looked away from Mercedes' profile and tried not to think about the graduation party that had ended his last relationship. Walking in on his girlfriend kissing Finn had been bad enough. Hearing Finn The Eternal Golden Boy Hutton lecture him about how they were never official and so he'd been right to go after her just made everything worse. No, he'd never asked Tina to really be his girlfriend. What if she'd turned him down?

(Finn probably never worried about people turning him down. Mike wondered if anyone ever had.)

"Bad news," Artie said, and Mike snapped out of his memories. He and Mercedes gathered the snacks they'd made and followed the call to where Artie was parked in front of his computer. "Three people disappeared off NYU's campus two days ago. It just got reported today. I guess they have to wait to make sure the people are really gone before they go public with it."

Mercedes handed Artie a sandwich and he started eating as she studied the report. All of them had come to realize that it was a little disturbing to treat real lives as a game of Clue like they were, but they couldn't seem to stop. In the end, it wasn't just a game. There was a potential problem for Quinn and they wanted to fix it.

The details were even more disturbing than Mike would have anticipated. That was a sad accomplishment, considering the swath of mutant victims this killer had already left behind. The victims had been taken alone. Strange marks had scored the sidewalk or walls along the victims' routes away from campus, like someone had lashed the stone with a fiery whip or shot tiny fireballs. X-Factor was right; whatever this thing was, it was definitely superpowered and very dangerous.

Worst of all, when it came time to soothe their nerves and tell themselves that Quinn wasn't truly at risk among all the other students, was the gallery of victims that accompanied the story. Unlike the mutants that this killer had originally cut its teeth on, the victims from NYU were all young, female, and breathtakingly beautiful. More than that, they were 'beautiful' in a way that matched the media stereotype of the word: Hollywood-slender and white.

Mike thought that Tina and Mercedes were just as pretty as Quinn, but he also knew that a lot of people in the world would disagree. Those people were morons, yes, but if this creeper was deliberately going after pretty white girls at NYU, then their idle little game was starting to feel more like a real job that they should take seriously. Looking at Mercedes and Artie's faces, Mike saw them reach the same conclusion. "We need to call her," Mike said.

"We super need to call her," Mercedes agreed, and dug out her phone. She was the best choice. Quinn was quiet and distant sometimes, but Mike knew the girls had bonded a bit over their shared religion. If any of the three of them could convince her to come all the way out to Queens from Staten Island, just on a whim, it would be her.

Not for the first time, Mike wondered how Santana and Brittany were doing. They were the other girls who got along well with Quinn, but their dreams had pulled them away from New York just like Mercedes, Rachel, Kurt, and Puck. It was a little depressing when he listed everyone like that. Wasn't New York supposed to be the place where people came to realize all their dreams? Instead, it felt like no one had really figured out just what they were supposed to do with themselves, or even who they were supposed to be, and went to other cities looking for the answers.

If he hadn't been so afraid of moving away from his parents, maybe Mike would have done the same thing. At the very least, maybe he wouldn't have applied somewhere so that he could study _economics_.

He didn't actually like math.

"She's coming," Mercedes soon said. "Come on, let's try to get all our ducks in a row before she gets here, because we're about to dump a whole lot of crazy talk on her."

Nodding, they focused on the details and the story they would tell. When the doorbell rang, nearly an hour later, it took all of them by surprise in their haze. They blinked and came out of their work like a groundhog checking the sun, and the doorbell rang again.

Mike walked to the front hall and opened the door. "Hey!" he said, a bright smile on his face and with extended arms. "Congratulations!" It was the first time he'd seen Quinn since she'd announced her engagement, and only the second time that summer.

"Thanks," Quinn said, and wiggled her ring-bearing finger at him. He acted appropriately impressed, and she beamed and studied the diamond on her hand when he'd finished. Although she looked every inch the stereotype of a newly engaged young woman, Mike was struck by how beautiful that sight was. Stereotype or not, there was nothing to mock about young, swooning love with a bright future ahead of it. 

"Should I call you Mrs. Fabray-Galati, or...?"

"Mrs. Galati-to-be," she giggled. "I want my whole family to have the same name. It's crazy to think that I could actually be pregnant by this time next year," she said as Mike stepped aside to let her in.

"Crazy's definitely a word for it," Mike agreed. Quinn might be up for leaping into parenthood, and he wouldn't argue with her decision, but the prospect made him feel a little dizzy. He'd been late for an awful lot of senior classes and sometimes pulled his underwear on inside-out by accident. That was not the mark of someone who was ready to be a father three months after graduation. "Do you have a date yet?"

"Mmmhmm," Quinn said. "We're going to have a February wedding. His parents have already scheduled the church, and we're looking at reception halls before I start school."

"Hey, girl!" Mercedes said, joining them. "Show me the rock." Quinn showed her ring again, and Mercedes grinned her approval. "I saw the pics you posted. He is cute." She drew the word out over several seconds, and Quinn laughed. Mike privately disagreed—Quinn's fiancé was attractive, but not swoon-worthy—but admitted that he probably wasn't the best person to judge that sort of thing.

"Vince is cute." As Quinn let herself be led to Artie's room, she continued, "I've run our faces through those blending sites, and I'm pretty sure we're going to have gorgeous kids. The worst case scenario is that they get my nose with his chin, because I just don't think it'd balance, but hey, that's why you give them plastic surgery certificates for their sweet sixteen."

Mercedes and Mike exchanged a look, and fought back their disbelieving giggles together as Quinn bent over to hug Artie. She seemed sincere. "So," Quinn said, perching on the edge of Artie's bed and looking at them expectantly, "what's going on? Not that I mind seeing you. I'm actually surprised at how much I miss everyone, if I'm being honest." Her brow furrowed. "I even miss Rachel."

"Me too," Artie admitted. "It's weird."

"Here's the thing," Mercedes said, sitting next to her. "We're worried about you."

"Me? Why? This isn't about Vince, is it?"

"No, no," Mike said, and took a seat on her other side. "We totally believe you when you say he's nice. It's about NYU."

Quinn eyed him, and Mike swallowed. Wow. She could sure give someone the stink-eye when she put her mind to it. "I know I might only be there for a year before I start being a mom, but there's nothing wrong with that. Moms have a right to an education, too."

"Wow, I think we stepped on a tripwire," Artie muttered.

"It's not about that," Mercedes said, frustrated. "It's about that creepy superpowered killer stalking campus and making off with girls like you."

"Wait, what?" Quinn asked.

They showed her the articles and Quinn's forehead regained its furrows. "How many people has this thing killed already?"

"Well, that depends on how you define 'people,'" Artie said dryly. "There are the three girls who disappeared from campus, and some shop owner. So the NYPD is saying four."

"It did this first, though," Mike said, gesturing to the markers they'd put down in Mutant Town on their personalized Google map. They'd splashed the ghettoized neighborhood with sure disappearances, uncertain ones, and the few certain and awful killings. The cops didn't track those crimes; it had all come from X-Factor Investigation's work. Mutant Town was its own nation within New York, to the NYPD's eyes, and those lives were not their responsibility. Crossing the boundary into that neighborhood of _undesirables_ was like pulling out a passport.

Quinn glanced at those markers, frowned, and looked back to the human areas of the map. "What kind of store did the man run? Was it something I'd go to?"

Mike shamefully realized that they'd never done that most basic research on the man. He quickly typed in the address and read the store's name as it popped up. "The Wizard's Dungeon: Comics and Gaming. Uh, I'm gonna say no."

"That looks like a nice store," Artie said, newly depressed.

"I guess that's a little reassuring. Sorry," Quinn said as her anger deflated further. "I didn't mean to yell. Dad's been making noise about me wasting his money, because I'm probably not going to finish a degree right away. He tries to cover it up, but...."

"We've got you," Artie said. "We cool."

"Promise me that you won't go alone to campus until this is all figured out?" Mercedes asked.

"No, absolutely." Quinn rubbed her arms like she was cold. The second girl in the gallery looked more than a little like her. "I need to go in this week, so I'll... no," she said, disappointed. "Vince is going upstate."

"I'll go with you," Mercedes instantly said. "He's not gonna mess with the two of us, you'll see."

"Thanks," Quinn said. Her rosebud mouth smiled. "I didn't realize you guys cared about me so much."

They returned the smile. "We should have done bonding stuff earlier," Mercedes said. "But better late than never, right?"

"Right," Quinn agreed. "Who else is still in town? We should get together."

"Um, us and Tina," Artie said without thinking. Mike made a pained face, and Artie said, "Which is maybe not the best idea I've ever had."

"She passed up a good guy," Mercedes said, and leaned across Quinn to push Mike's shoulder. "I'd scoop you right up if I weren't about to move to Texas." 

Damn.

"I can't believe you're moving to Texas on purpose," Artie said.

Mercedes laughed, and her smile spread across the room. "Just trying to find my way."

That about summed it up.

* * *

On Tuesday, neither Brittany nor Santana had a late shift. The night was open for experimentation. Santana watched Kurt lay four MGH pills in front of him like some geriatric planning his vitamin routine for the day. Finn cleared his throat and Kurt silently added a fifth to the pile.

 _Ugh._ Why was Finn there? Santana had a mental scale she used to rate everyone from that school, like the Homeland Security scale for terrorism. The only person besides Brittany ("Perfect") in the green zone was Quinn, and even she was nearly bumped up to blue by the flaw in her assessment. ("Fun, when she doesn't go Stepford.")

Blue held Mike ("Nice, but oh my god grow a spine") alone. Yellow was Tina ("Nice, but oh my god grow a spine, _and_ wear better clothes"), which Santana thought might be racist. Oh well. She was probably okay, since it also had Artie ("Annoying but useful, because he'll do homework for me if I catch him staring at my ass") and Puck ("Only good sense of humor, too bad he's so much of a fucking _guy_.") Orange was Mercedes ("Grudging respect or total hate; let's see what today is like") and Kurt ("Calm the fuck down, Vida Boheme").

Get-away-from-me red was the sole domain of Rachel ("Thank _god_ she moved to London") and, of course, Finn. He didn't get a short label. He got every grudging complaint, every vendetta, every dark thought she'd ever had about annoying dudebros who took their spot in life too seriously and didn't realize that everyone else didn't exist to make their lives better. Maybe he needed to be knocked around a little like Puck; although their personalities had some similarities, Puck's harder life had made him infinitely more likable. 

And of course, he'd come to visit his brother in Los Angeles and inserted himself into their little powered-up happy ending.

Super.

"Okay, so Kurt filled me in on what's going on," Finn said as they all studied the pills in front of them. "It sounds like you guys need to get used to using your powers really fast, so we can save the world however you're supposed to do it."

"What's this 'we,' Kemosabe?" Santana asked.

"I'm not gonna let you have all the fun," Finn said, grinning.

"Oh, so now we're calling illegal drugs 'fun,'" Kurt muttered.

"Don't most people call drugs fun?" Brittany asked. "That's why they do them."

"I wouldn't know. While my roommate was throwing his big druggie parties, I would close myself in my room and practice the full score to Newsies." Kurt smiled proudly. "I think I broke up one party all on my own when I hit my eighteenth run-through of Santa Fe." His smile fell and he looked down. "Then they just started turning up the stereo more, and a cop nearly caught everyone on noise complaints. That was when I just started staying away when he had people over."

Kurt singing showtunes on repeat: one? Santana found herself sympathizing at least a little with the roommate who'd stuck him with the full rent bill.

"The good news," Kurt continued, "is that he had excellent suppliers, from what I could tell. He knew his stuff."

"His drug stuff?" Brittany asked.

"Yes, his... drug stuff. In short, these should be high-quality MGH pills, with, um, excellent superpowers?" Kurt scratched his head. "I'm actually not sure how they work. Or what powers we'll get."

Santana whipped out her phone and typed in a quick search: _what powers does mgh give?_ The first result answered her, and she read straight from her screen. "MGH is made in large batches with each new source."

"New source?" Puck repeated.

"They probably brew up a big bucketful of the chemical at a time," Kurt suggested, "and pack it into these little pills?"

Kurt's intuition seemed largely to be correct, from what Santana could tell from this short overview. She scanned the rest of the paragraph, nodded, and put away her phone. "Looks like it. They do a bunch at a time, and all the powers are supposed to be the same for each group of pills. So I guess we'll all end up with the same powers, going by what they said there."

"I want to be Batman," Brittany said.

"Batman has no powers," Puck said.

"Uh, he has the power of being Batman," Brittany said, and dry-swallowed her pill.

Damn! Santana had wanted Finn to be the guinea pig for this little experiment. As worry churned, she watched Brittany for any signs of distress. If a single thing went wrong, she was bolting straight for the car and the nearest emergency room. "How do you feel?" she asked after perhaps thirty seconds had passed, and the four of them had watched Brittany carefully for any signs of change.

"Fine, and like I want you to stop staring at me."

Shrugging, Finn swallowed his pill and chased it with a swig of Coke. "Okay, so the plan is: we head to South Central."

"South Central?" Puck repeated mockingly.

"Uh, yeah?" Finn said. _Oooh, feel the testosterone._ "You know, where all the bad guys live?"

Oh no, she was not letting that one slide. "Hold up," Santana said. "You mean, the minority populations that are just trying to live their own lives and yeah, sometimes have crime issues there, but mostly just want to deal with their own shit and not have Mr. Big White Savior come in and tell them what to do?" Everyone looked at her in surprise—even Brittany—and Santana folded her arms. "I care about some things. I'm aware of stuff." 

(Lucia from work had mentioned the topic while driving Santana home that afternoon. Her dad had started a youth center there. She had opinions.)

"I nearly got killed a couple of blocks away, Finn," Kurt said dryly. "I'm sure we can find some problems to fix right here at home."

"Fine," Finn grumbled. "Just trying to help."

"You got here like five minutes ago," Puck said. "What makes you think you should be telling us what to do, anyway?"

Finn snorted. "What, like you're going to lead everyone? Or Kurt?" He shot Kurt a smile. "I love you, man, but you know you're not a leader, right?" Kurt had never shown any real aspirations of being a leader, and so for once, his cripplingly obvious inferiority complex didn't kick in. Kurt only shrugged, and unfortunately, Finn took that as a sign. "And let's be real, no one's gonna follow Brittany."

That did it. Brittany's look of hurt sent fire through Santana's belly, and she swallowed her pill with determination. "Here's the deal, André: you're all going to follow _me_. Because I'm smarter than you and I know this city better, and you are a stumbling manchild who should go take a camping trip in the Sierra Nevada and use the shirt billowing from your puffy pyramid nipples as your tent."

"We're off to a great start," Puck muttered as he swallowed his pill and Kurt followed suit. He did look a little happy that Santana was insulting Finn.

"Yeah, well," Finn said haltingly, and then smirked when he landed on something. "You're dating a guy when you're not even interested in dudes. And you call _me_ dumb?"

"You dumped Cooper, right?" Brittany asked before Santana could retort.

"I haven't gotten around to it," Santana said impatiently. "It's been like, what, three days?" Brittany looked hurt again, and Santana groaned. "I will dump Cooper! I will put him personally on a plane back to Iowa. Ohio. Whichever. But not tonight. Because tonight, we're going to go try to figure out what superpowers this big bag has locked inside and then go save the world, or at least get some world-saving practice. Got it?"

A cracking sound drew everyone's attention, and they looked to see where Puck had dented the counter with his fingertips. He considered that and tested the dents' spacing to see that his hand really had made it. "Uh. So, I'm guessing this is a bag of super-strength." 

"So much for my security deposit," Kurt mourned, but immediately brightened. "Wait. It's Francis' security deposit! Oh, dent the counter again, I don't care." Puck squeezed the formica between thumb and forefinger, and everyone grinned as it burst like a baked potato. "Let's go find something to do before this wears off." No one knew how long MGH lasted in their system, and they agreed quickly.

Super-strength wasn't a bad way to go, Santana thought as they made their careful way out the door. Kurt turned the key gingerly, afraid of snapping it off in the lock with his new powers, and they all took the stairs slowly so their overpowered steps wouldn't knock a slab of concrete to the floor below. Strength was nice, reliable, and boring, and shouldn't be too hard to turn to their advantage. Really, the only weakness the power had was lacking any attack from a distance, but with five of them throwing punches like speeding cars, it shouldn't be a big deal.

"So, who do we have to worry about around here?" Santana asked when they'd rounded a corner and found a likely street. It had a few scorch marks from the fights Kurt had mentioned, and was plastered with particularly macho graffiti that suggested a lurking human element, too. It was off any main drags and was unlikely to have the police swing by. Waiting there might be better than pushing forward in the hopes of finding someone or something.

"Bad guys breaking into cars and convenience stores, by the sound of it. We won't know them until they cause trouble, but they won't know us in return." Kurt shrugged. 

"But how is this gonna save the world?" Brittany asked. "Isn't that what we're supposed to be doing?"

"You guys are doing weird stuff out here," Finn said. "I don't like it."

"Maybe there are more dinosaurs around her," Puck said. "Evil dinosaurs. Dude, what if I get to punch a dinosaur? That'd be the best day of my life."

Kurt cleared his throat.

"What?" Puck asked.

"You're supposed to say the second best day of your life, because 'I love you' and all of that?" Kurt said pointedly.

Puck considered his words. "But I would be punching a dinosaur in the face with superpowers. I really think it's a tie."

"Don't say anything, Finn," Kurt grumbled when Finn looked like he'd been handed a victory.

"Come on. You know I love dinosaurs," Puck protested. "You love me, you love how I love dinosaurs. You accepted the mohawk, you have to accept the dinosaurs."

"Fine," Kurt groaned.

"This isn't saving the world," Brittany grumbled as she tapped her foot and waited. "I could be watching Jeopardy with The Truman Show right now, and he's really good at Daily Doubles."

The three boys were dumb enough that it was easy to tune them out, and Santana really didn't listen to anything that Brittany said about her cat. Through the night air, as the last natural light faded, she heard a distant scuffling that might be a threat. Santana grinned. Excellent: everything was rolling right along, just as their little psychic guide had promised. They'd practice on whatever was coming, learn how to use their world-saving abilities, and then take care of the big stuff... whatever that big stuff might be. By this time next week, she might be world famous again and Brittany would have her gold-plated pony.

"Puck," Santana said, catching sight of a stripped-down motorcycle sitting along the sidewalk. It was either abandoned now, or would be when its owner saw how much of it had been stolen for parts. "Something's coming, so get that ready to throw. If someone comes from that direction, take care of it yourself. If it comes the other direction, then throw it to Finn." She knew these two boys had played football in the park for fun. If they could throw passes, they could probably throw a motorcycle with equally good aim. 

"And us?" Kurt asked.

Santana shrugged. "We wait to kick ass if they get through. You know how to throw a punch, right?"

Kurt presented a fist to her. 

"Oh my god, you are going to end up dead some day and I am going to laugh," Santana said as she forced his fist open and balled the fingers again with the thumb outside them. "Were you trying to break your thumb, or was that just going to be a fun surprise?"

"A fun surprise," he mumbled.

"Don't worry," she said, and patted his cheek. Kurt jerked his head away. "Brit and I will take care of you."

"You know," Puck said, "it'd be easier to hear people coming if you'd shut up."

"You shut up," Santana said.

"You shut up."

"You."

"You."

"Motorcycle!" Finn yelped, pointing down his direction of the street. Puck grinned, a flash of confidence and white teeth in the darkness, and lobbed the motorcycle to Finn in an easy arc. His muscles flexed no more on the upswing than they would for a bag of dog food, despite sending hundreds of pounds of metal into the air. They watched as Puck's pill-granted power sent that bike flying, and waiting for Finn's similarly empowered body to make the catch.

Instead, hundreds of pounds of metal hit Finn broadside. Something flashed bright purple. The bike rebounded somehow, and there was only one loud crack instead of the slow crumpling of an entire body, but Finn collapsed to the pavement in agony. Everyone stared for a long beat, stunned. "But those were strength pills," Santana said. MGH was supposed to give them all the same powers from the same batch, and those had all the same numbers on them. Puck had managed to hold that motorcycle with his super strength; was Finn incompetent or something?

After that shock, Kurt was the first one to run to his brother. As Finn moaned in pain, Kurt checked on him frantically. "It looks like he broke his arm trying to catch this," Kurt said. "I think he's okay."

"I am so not okay," Finn whimpered.

"I mean, other than your arm, you're... okay, we're going to get you to the ER, and everything's going to be fine, and oh my god Dad is going to _kill_ me. _Ahh!_ " Kurt shrieked as something full of teeth launched itself from the darkness. Before Santana could react, Kurt scooped up a piece of rusty rebar from the gutter. With one firm strike, the metal caught his attacker through its open mouth. What looked like a twenty-pound rat with fangs and mange was left dangling from his impromptu weapon like the world's worst marshmallow on a stick. Kurt was too horrified to let it drop.

The _thing's_ leg twitched and Santana moved on instinct, just as Kurt had. Her hand launched a blazing meteor that caught the thing and set it alight. Finally, with a squeak, Kurt's instincts kicked in again and he flung the burning creature away.

"I think we found the Chupacabra," Brittany intoned.

"I think we found what happens when city rats drink factory runoff," Puck said. "Dude, are you okay?"

"You hit me with a motorcycle," Finn whimpered. "You broke my arm."

"I guess we didn't all get the same powers," Brittany said, and offered her hand to Finn. He took it with his good arm, but gasped as he tried to stand. In the end, it took Kurt, Brittany, and Santana all helping him to get him up; he refused Puck's help, worried that he'd break him further.

"No," Finn said, holding his broken arm. "I got stupid mind reading. I can hear you guys. This sucks. You promised we'd get the same powers!" he said to Santana accusingly. "I got lame powers! Chick powers! Mind reading is a chick power!"

"Dad is going to murder me," Kurt fretted as he led Finn to Brittany's car. "He is literally going to drive to JFK, fly out here, and murder me. I am going to end up dead and then he is going to ground my corpse so that it can't even leave my room."

"I just went off what the website said," Santana said, although she did feel a tiny bit bad about all of this. She probably should have tested their powers before she told Puck to throw a motorcycle at Finn. "Look, just take some more pills and maybe you'll get super-healing."

Finn shot her a baleful look.

"Or I guess you could not overdose on MGH, fine." She caught Brittany looking at her and mumbled a weak, "I'm sorry, Finn."

Puck frowned in the direction of what had ended up as a very underpowered first attempt at glory. "I didn't know that we had twenty-pound mutant rats around here. Dude, Kurt, we should look for a better neighborhood."

"Now's not the time, Puck," Kurt said as he helped Finn into the front seat and strapped him in as securely as he could. "It won't be far to the ER. I have an early call, so I'll just stay with you all night and go straight to work from there. Puck, are you working tomorrow?"

"No, not until Thursday."

"Good. Puck'll take you home from the hospital, okay?" Kurt caught both of them ready to protest and said firmly, "Finn, you're going to be fine with Puck taking you home from the hospital, _right?_ "

"Yeah," the other boys said.

As Santana climbed in the back seat with Puck and Kurt, she caught everyone shooting her a dirty look over her spectacular failure. "Well, we learned is that not everyone gets the same powers. So, I guess that's useful." Their looks didn't fade. "I said I was sorry."

"Oh god, and now I have a headache," Finn whimpered. "I hate this power. It feels like I have banana stickers all over the inside of my brain and I want to pick them all off."

Kurt leaned forward, pale. "Finn, don't start messing around with telepathy like that. You could really hurt yourself."

"I know. But it's like chicken pox. I just want to scratch them." As Brittany set the car into motion, she hit a rough patch of road despite her best efforts and Finn yelped. "I pulled off one of the stickers," he said. "Sorry. I lost my concentration and it just came off."

"Well, don't do it again!" Kurt said. "I don't want you to get any more hurt."

"Okay. Where's Lima?"

"It's the capital of Peru," Brittany said instantly, "but it's pronounced 'lee-mah.' The Truman Show beat me on a Final Jeopardy question with that. I swore the answer was Buenos Aires."

"Oh." Finn grimaced as they turned a slow corner and his arm jostled again. "Your brains are all covered with banana stickers, too."

"Don't pull any off us, either," Santana said instantly. "I don't want to start talking about Peru." Finn groaned again, like the big baby he was, and she tried to ignore it. God, he'd just _had_ to stop by Los Angeles. He just _had_ to invite himself along. She was not okay with feeling guilty over Finn Hutton, not even a little bit.

Hopefully, it'd pass, and they'd do better with their next round of pills.

She was still going to buy Brittany that pony, no matter what it took.


	8. Breaking

Santana and Brittany left as soon as they'd deposited the boys at the hospital and their taillights vanished into the neon-speckled night. Puck agreed with Santana that three young men reporting an accident looked somehow more believable than the full group of five, and that they'd probably get away with fewer questions. Considering that they had no idea how long the MGH would stay in their system, nor whether hospitals could test for it, avoiding questions seemed like a very good idea. They wanted the doctors to think that the only mind-altering substance that had led to that accident was testosterone.

"They say it's a clean break, at least," Kurt said weakly at his brother's bedside. "It should heal well."

"I should've stayed home," Finn sighed at the ceiling. His arm was in a cast, but the doctors wanted to keep him there for observation after Finn mentioned that he'd been knocked to the ground by a motorcycle whose driver they didn't quite see. A few more hours and the doctors would feel confident that he'd suffered no further, hidden injuries. Stellar government health insurance seemed to play a large part behind their willingness to be helpful.

Puck risked speaking up. He and Finn were about to spend a lot of hours together, without Kurt, and he might as well breach that awkwardness now. "Can you still hear us at all? In your brain?" There was no secretive way for Puck to test his strength powers, either by breaking things or lifting something huge. Kurt had apparently gotten the temporary power of stabbing things really well, and as convenient a setting as a hospital was for puncture wounds, Kurt shouldn't really go around testing that, either. Finn's telepathy was their coal mine canary; when his telepathy went silent, all of their powers had ended.

Finn shook his head. "It’s pretty much gone. And I can barely feel those banana stickers any more."

"I'm glad you didn't pull off any more... stickers," Kurt said. He began smoothing Finn's rumpled shirt. "Who knows what you could have done to yourself? You probably already hurt yourself a little bit, with how you randomly started asking about Peru."

"Where did Santana say her fake boyfriend was from?" Finn asked. Puck and Kurt looked at each other and shrugged. "Never mind."

"I really have to go," Kurt said apologetically when he checked his phone again, well into their vigil over Finn. "The girls are coming in at six today and I need to have everything ready."

"It's okay," Finn said. "I'll see you when you get home."

Kurt kissed Finn on the forehead, kissed Puck gently on the mouth, and left.

"So," Finn said after a long beat. "You and him."

They’d already gone over this, but until Finn accepted the truth, they were apparently going to go over it again. "Me and him."

"Is this when I say that if you do anything to hurt Kurt, I'll punch you in the nose?"

Puck grinned; he couldn't help himself. "Punch me with your left arm or the arm in a cast?" Finn glowered and Puck sobered. "No. You shouldn't say that. Because he's a grown-up and he can take care of himself, and he doesn't need you treating him like some sixteen year old girl on Leave it to Beaver."

"What's Leave it to Beaver?"

Puck didn't actually know; he'd only ever heard it brought up as an old-fashioned stereotype. But, with that title.... "I think it's really boring porn, where everyone treats each other like they're at charm school." Maybe he should try to track it down. Kurt might like charm school sex.

"Don't talk about porn and my brother."

"Which one?" Puck asked. At Finn's confusion over which porn movie he meant, Puck clarified, "Which brother? Because one day you're gonna have me as an in-law."

Finn's mouth pulled down in petulant disbelief.

"I mean it," Puck said, only a little surprised that he did. "We're supposed to be together, that girl with the magical stick promised us a happy ending, and that's our ending. Things are crazy, but I know that like I know my birthday."

"You're nineteen. We're all nineteen."

"Which means we've got a lot of time until death starts doing us apart." Puck raised an eyebrow. "Look. You came here while some weird shit's going down. You need to catch up." At Finn's clear reluctance, he continued, "We come from a town where a billionaire flies around in a tin can suit. You never know if a kid's gonna turn out to be a mutant when they hit puberty. Can't you believe that we actually got told that we need to get powers and save the world?"

After a long, unhappy beat, Finn shrugged. "I guess," he said. "My folks talk about seeing lots of weird stuff."

"Exactly."

Finn shifted his weight. When he looked back at Puck, some of the distance between them had lessened. Maybe he'd even accepted that in-laws statement as a promise instead of a threat, or at least stopped trying to dismiss it as entirely ridiculous. "Mutants. Yeah. I was so freaked out about turning into a mutant when I was little. I kept watching Kurt, because if I was one, he'd have to be one, too. You know... twins. And I thought maybe I'd notice something on him that I missed on me. Except," Finn continued grimly, "that was kind of the wrong time to be looking at him like he was a freak in the making."

Right, because mutations usually popped up right about when Kurt would have been realizing that he wasn't interested in the girls that his brother was. "How'd that work out for you guys?"

"Well," Finn admitted, "I panic-spiraled. I convinced myself that I was going to grow scales and horns and turn bright orange. You know how much the news talks about how scary mutants are. When you're little, it's easy to think that might happen to you. I finally asked Kurt to keep an eye out and tell me if he noticed something happening to me, because just watching him wasn't enough. Then he realized why I'd been staring at him." His mouth tilted into a soft smile. "A couple nights later, he came out. Things made more sense to me then, too."

Puck had never worried about mutations. He always had confidence that even if it happened, he wouldn't be one of the kids who turned into a real freakshow. After the way his father had left the family, he sort of liked the idea of developing superpowers. They could be there just in case someone else tried to mess with the people he cared about. That was one reason that being told he needed to save the world had sounded like such a natural fit: get superpowers. Do something that matters. Get his happy ending. It was everything he’d grown up hoping for, even as he'd told himself that what he really cared about was betting on Monday Night Football with men three times his age.

Finn sat quiet for a while. "Can I help?" he finally asked.

"Help with what?"

"Saving the world."

"You already forced your way in tonight," Puck pointed out.

"No, I mean seriously help. Not with just killing a big gross rat. Not because I... sort of blackmailed Kurt into letting me come. But because I want to, and you want me there." Finn looked down again. "It turns out that no one wants to hire a guy with no work history and really bad grades, when he's probably just going to get drafted anyway if the war starts. I want to do something bigger."

_Oh._ Sometimes it was easy to remember why they were best friends. Puck reached out and clapped Finn on his good arm’s shoulder. "Sure. Glad we're past all that Rachel bullshit." It felt good to have his bud back, acting like they'd been for years. 

The way Finn's gaze cooled told Puck that no, he'd been a little premature with that assessment. Puck raised his hands. At least they'd made progress.

They sat again in silence. 

"I want to do more... _stuff_ today," Finn finally hissed, leaning in close.

"Uh, I don't know if you should. Kurt'd kill me if you got hurt." Something nagged at Puck. It was an emotion that he hadn't often felt before moving out to Los Angeles and falling in love with Kurt, and starting to think about stupid adult things like the future: guilt. It sucked. "I'd feel bad, too."

"You hit me with a motorcycle. Feel bad now."

"I do. I'm sorry."

Finn studied him. "You sided with Rachel, man. How could you do that when she just threw me away?"

"I tried to side with you both, because you're both my best friends," Puck protested. "And it sucked being caught in the middle like that. You're my now-best friend. Or... or you were, I guess. She's my ex and my old-best friend. What was I supposed to do? I couldn't take any side without it being a total disaster."

Finn clearly didn't like hearing that. He wanted to hear that Puck should have taken his side, but it wasn't an answer that Puck could give.

"I get you, man," Puck said. "I get where you're at. If I hadn't stumbled into a crazy streetfight with a witch and a dinosaur, I'd be out on my ass right now after what I did when I came to L.A. Something happened to me, and I... I don't know. I grew up. I got a shortcut past being nineteen, and all of a sudden I was able to land a job by talking about stuff that I've never done before." He tapped Finn gently on his good shoulder. "But you didn't get your own dinosaur night, so you can't just walk up to the docks and land a job. I remember what that's like, to feel like you're a loser who can't make rent. And for someone to make you feel like you're not going anywhere with your life... it hurts. I know."

Finn eyed him. "You do sound grown up. I don't like it."

Puck shrugged. "Sorry." He pulled a chair up close to Finn's bed, flipped it around, and straddled it. "Rachel fucked up twice. At the audition, and with you. I got to hear from her and from Kurt how bad that audition was, okay?"

And it was pretty bad.

* * *

"Please," Rachel wheedled, tugging Kurt into the theatre. _"Please."_

He gave her a good humored smile, but not one that promised she'd get everything she'd asked for. "I am here to wish that you will break a leg, Rachel Berry... and that's it."

The lobby was filled with women; the enemy had been sighted. Although Rachel was sure that she had a better voice than all of them, it was incredibly difficult to break into the business with that first shaky step. It was her fourth audition and she'd already heard _three_ nos.

Rachel didn't know if she'd ever been told no on something she really wanted. One of those things that she wanted was for her best friend since childhood to tackle their New York adulthoods together. Kurt had lots of interests, but it wouldn't be hard to steer him into tackling the world of entertainment with her. She could go to his auditions for support, and of course, he would go to every single one of hers. That was the plan. Rachel liked to make plans.

And then her best friend utterly betrayed her by telling her that he was moving to Los Angeles. "I just didn't think you were really going to move," Rachel said. 

"I've been talking about moving to L.A. for a couple of years," Kurt said as he took in her competition. "At what point did you think I stopped being serious about it?"

"The point when you were seriously going to abandon me," she said, and tried not to pout.

He wasn't guilt-tripped. "You know I want to get away from my dad," Kurt said.

"I know," Rachel said, just as quiet, and tried to swallow all her selfish hurt. She'd gone through a lot of years of watching Kurt slowly diminish in his father's eyes. She probably knew his pain better than anyone but himself. She sympathized, she did. It would still hurt to get left behind.

"You could come with me."

For one wild second, she considered it. Hollywood was sort of known for making people famous. In the next, she shook her head. "Kurt, I want to be on stage. I _need_ to be on stage, like only Broadway can give me." She considered her words. "Maybe the West End, if I'm feeling adventurous."

"L.A. theatre has really started to grow up," Kurt said, but he clearly knew it was a futile argument. His smile was as sad as she'd ever seen. "I guess we are, too. And we need to do what we need to do."

She flung her arms tightly around him. "Let's both move to London! I can be adventurous in the West End, and you can have a whole ocean between the two of you."

"I don't have a passport," Kurt said apologetically, "and I have got to get out of here ASAP."

"Well... apply for a passport when you get to Los Angeles, all right? As soon as you get there. And then maybe we'll see what we can do."

"Maybe," he agreed, and then dug his phone out when it buzzed. "Mom asked me to pick up some things for dinner." Kurt bit his lip. With years of practice, Rachel could read his concern: if he didn't run that errand, he would be judged for it. For someone who always walked a tightrope of his family's opinion, expecting him to run the risk of being late for dinner was a harsh request.

"Go," Rachel told him. "It's okay."

"You're sure?" he asked, although he was already checking to make sure he had everything. 

"Haven't I been preparing my entire life for this? I'll be fine. Go."

"Good lu... break a leg!" he corrected himself, and hugged her again. Kurt hurried away and Rachel breathed out a long, slow breath. _All right, Rachel Barbra Berry. You can do this. You've known since you were a fetus that you were going to be a star immediately out of high school. You are going to land this role, take the world by storm, and have your own collectible set of plates sold on QVC by the time you are twenty-nine._

When called, Rachel gave what she considered a flawless rendition of It Might As Well Be Spring. Every well-practiced note was a delicate blend of power and emotion. Her notes rang like chimes against the distant walls as she finished.

The director didn't look up from his clipboard. "Thank you, but no."

When the feeling of being punched in the gut faded, Rachel cleared her throat. "I don't think I really displayed myself properly. I'd like to run through it again. I've also prepared With One Look, if you'd rather hear that."

The director studied her over his glasses. "Thank you, but no."

"I'm perfect for this role, though," she pleaded. "If I could just show you a more emotionally charged—"

The producer, a nicer and older man, leaned forward. "Miss, you have potential, but you need to put in some time before you're ready for a big stage. Try some off-off-Broadway plays to cut your teeth on. Then move up. In a few years, we might be glad to have you on our stage again, or maybe you could be in a touring company."

"A few years?" Rachel repeated in disbelief. How could they expect her to wait years? And to be in a _touring_ company? "I promise you, no one is better than I am for this. If you don't put me in this role, you are... denying your audience greatness!" They seemed unimpressed, even the producer. Yet, Rachel couldn't stop herself. "You owe me to your audience," she insisted.

The director's heavy lids hung lower. "Are you aware that this role called for someone twenty-five and older, as you stand there and ignore your 'no?'"

Rachel swallowed. She'd worn nice clothes to make herself look older, but maybe it hadn't worked. "Yes, but I know there's always... wiggle room at the end of the range."

"Mmm. Are you aware that Christiane Noll is also auditioning for this part?"

She swallowed again. "The recent Tony nominee for lead actress in a musical?"

"You know your awards." The director let his words rest in the darkness and take root.

Humiliation swept Rachel as she began to see just how much she was out of her depth. She was auditioning in direct competition with a Tony nominee, over a role for which she was years too young, and she'd already been dismissed. Her entire body vibrated with shame. "Thank you for your time," she mumbled, and rushed off the stage.

It took her a while to recover from that one. A while in which Kurt was planning his imminent post-graduation move, Finn didn't understand why it was such a big deal to be told that she belonged on off- _off_ -Broadway, and absolutely everyone in the world seemed to annoy her. Finn actually told her to try for the off-off-Broadway shows. Finn told her that they could look for jobs together, like it was anywhere close to the same thing.

So, she broke up with Finn to focus entirely on her work. A girl had to do that, sometimes. He'd understand. He'd always known how driven she was. But he didn't understand, not even as a friend. She suddenly only had Kurt and Puck left for her, and Puck was trying to play Switzerland while Kurt took a taxi to JFK.

_I am better than what those men told me_ , Rachel thought as she looked at an audition for a replacement role on Broadway. A voice like hers was a gift, and you did not take a gift and drag it through the muddy trenches of shoebox theatres and touring companies. A replacement role was bad enough; she wouldn't even be on the original cast recording. She refused to lower herself any further. 

But, knowing that she might run into competition again, she needed to get creative.

She needed to come prepared with a stack of papers directing her competition to the office building in Brooklyn where they were supposedly holding individual auditions. She needed to show up in a dress suit with fake glasses and a sensible braid, because Rachel Berry was playing the part of the director's assistant, not a fellow auditioner. 

For the first ten would-be competitors, it worked.

As she approached number eleven, a voice asked behind her, "And who might you be?"

It turned out that the director of a major Broadway show was sort of touchy about a woman pretending to be his assistant and sending all of his potential new starlets on a wild goose chase to Brooklyn, just to clear a path for her own success. And it turned out that he knew people who knew people. Instead of being famous for her talent, "Rachel Berry" became synonymous with "crazy upstart who will cause infinitely more trouble than she is ever, ever worth."

In the space of a week, everyone on Broadway knew who Rachel Berry was.

And that fame assured her that she would never even be hired for a round of dinner theatre in the state of New York.

* * *

"Her name is five feet below 'mud' on Broadway now," Puck said. "That big producer said she was trying to ruin his show, and it stuck. That's why she left for London. No one would hire her."

"I didn't know it got so bad," Finn admitted, even though he still sounded grumpy over Rachel. He might even be a little pleased that she'd ruined things for herself after discarding him.

"She's doing okay in London," Puck said. "From what I hear. From Kurt. Over the last week. ...I probably should have tried harder to stay in touch with Rachel." He scooted his chair closer. "Look, man, you've got a new girlfriend and she's kinda hot, so just let bygones be bygones."

"Tina's hot," Finn said. "Her boobs are bigger, and when she was on top of me making out, I could grab her thighs like...." He tried to imitate grabbing flesh and was left disappointed when only his good arm moved.

"And Rachel's been your friend for years." Puck sat back and folded his arms. "The two of you made great friends with all of us and I kind of wanted to gag you when you were dating, so hey, maybe just work with that, instead." He bit down on the obvious truth that it had been a sleazy move for Finn to make out with Tina at that party, just because she could be overwhelmed by Finn's whole All-American Popularity routine and hadn't yet made it official with her shrinking violet of a not-quite boyfriend. 

One of the benefits of that night with the dinosaur was that Puck had at least a sliver of self-awareness. Yeah, he probably shouldn't throw around comments about people being sleazy. It was just setting up the obvious return blow.

Puck finished, "Call her, at least. Just be her friend again."

"So, will you help me try out more _stuff_ today?" Finn asked after a long beat.

If this would help them get past their stupid argument, then Puck could be Finn's support as he suffered through a roulette wheel of random superpowers, for god only knew what reason. "Fine. Why?"

"I want to see if I can get any more of these stickers off my brain."

Puck lunged forward. "Okay, one, Kurt's already freaked out about you hurting yourself, and he would kick my ass through my nose if I just stood by and let you do it. And two, the pills were supposed to give us all the same powers and they gave us random shit. You're not even going to end up with mindreading again."

"Well, I want to try. The inside of my head, it... it itches. Like I'm trying to remember a dream, you know? And I think it might be important."

Puck still hesitated.

"I want to do this."

Puck grimaced.

"Fine. If you help me and make sure that I don't do anything crazy," Finn said impatiently, "then I promise that I will never date Rachel again and we will only be friends forever, if we even make up."

"Deal," Puck said. That seemed worth the risk.

Finn gave the smirk of a man who thought he'd scored a win by offering something he didn't even care about, but Puck knew better. Finn and Rachel had been like a returning comet over the years he'd known them: the fiery approach when everything was all high drama, the breakup and path away from each other, and then the inevitable return. Hell, maybe by getting that promise, he’d done his own little part toward saving the world.

"Mr. Hutton?" said a nurse. "You’re free to go. You look like you’re in good shape. Just take this clipboard up to the front desk and they’ll get you checked out."

Puck helped Finn stand, and together they left his hospital room. If they weren’t total bros again, they were still in much better shape than they had been. It was a start. Plus, Puck had gotten one heck of a promise out of Finn as part of the deal.

Of course, Finn would probably just ignore him and start sucking Rachel’s tongue again.

* * *

"I want to go with you when you break up with Cooper."

Santana finished pulling her hair into a messy ponytail. "Brittany, I promised that I'm going to dump him. I'm not lying to you."

"I know." Brittany folded her arms. "I just want to watch him. I don't like that he's been making out with you in public, and I feel that I'm allowed to be vindictive. It's important to strike a balance between good behavior and not holding in your emotions, and I think this is my balance."

"Please stop watching midday talk shows on your days off."

"No, it's really helped with my self-actualization." Brittany bounced on her toes. "I'm going to go kiss The Truman Show goodbye, and then I'll drive you over."

Whatever. Santana just hoped that Brittany didn't use tongue.

Cooper was less distraught over losing Santana than she wanted him to be. It wasn’t that she actually cared about him, but he was still supposed to care about her.

"I can't say that I'm crushed," Cooper admitted. "I've been tracking when people follow my Twitter. Pictures with you only gain me an average of two followers each time. And they're usually porn bots."

"Wait," Santana said. "You don't get to be glad that we're breaking up. I am dumping you because you are not meeting my needs."

"And you're not meeting mine. Look, Santana, I really want one of those little blue checkmarks by my Twitter name before the end of the month. Everyone needs a goal in life, and that's Cooper Anderson's."

Nope. He wasn't winning this. No way. "I am dumping you, end of story!"

Brittany watched the exchange with a broad smile. It grew with each turn of her head.

"Fine, dump me," Cooper said. "That means I'll be able to find a girlfriend who doesn't keep making me miss my water polo practices. And maybe you'll finally have the time to run those tapes to record companies, and land a gig one-tenth as impressive as my national commercial campaign."

"Regional," Santana corrected.

"People move across this great land. All the time. I'm sure viewers from that region will bring news of me when they rent their U-Hauls."

"I have been busier with something slightly bigger than a regional commercial campaign, Anderson," Santana snapped. "While you and your Ken Doll face have been practicing to play Finnick O-whatever, I've been busy saving the world."

"Uh, Santana," Brittany began, but Santana's ego was fired up and sparking like the Fourth of July.

"Saving the world? You already heard back from the studio, and they said they weren't going to bring in Santana Lopez as their Mockingjay," Cooper pointed out with that smug, smug smile. 

"Screw the Hunger Games, I'm getting superpowers and actually saving the actual planet. I am going to be a rich and famous superhero who the whole world loves, and you will still be hitting paparazzi hotspots to land on a TMZ slideshow." She leaned in closer. "With a single picture."

"Santana, what are you doing?" Brittany asked.

Cooper's wounded ego mended in a flash. "There's some new superhero movie being cast? Is it the next Batman?"

Brittany's temporary relief melted under Santana's frustration. "No, you moron! Actual superpowers! I don't need you because I am getting actual live superpowers and I am going to hurt people who piss me off." She leaned in close. "Comprende?"

"I don't think they're making another Batman, anyway," Brittany sighed. "Okay, I guess he knows, now."

"You're serious," Cooper realized. "How long has this been going on? What's your origin story? Do you have a theme for your powers? Image is vital, you have to pick the right costume."

"Uh," Santana said. How exactly did one go about explaining that one's origin story was a psychic on the beach, a dinosaur under the tar pits, and a handful of illegal drugs?

"I want in on everything," Cooper said. 

Brittany looked like she was watching a zoo tiger break into the penguin exhibit: horror over what was happening, but without a single way to stop it.

"No. Absolutely not," Santana said.

"It's fantastic acting practice," Cooper said. "Think of everything I'll be able to put on my resume! Familiarity with special effects, stunt work, reaction to powers... oh! Do something now." He waited a full second before pleading, "Come on, amaze me."

"I can't do anything right now, my powers aren't turned on," Santana gritted out.

"Pretend!"

Well, his head did make an appealing target. She flung an imaginary fireball, and Cooper cried out like a wounded cow and staggered to one side with a palm clasped to his forehead. "The pain!" he gasped. "Life flashing... my family, my home. I miss them. I miss...." He slumped to his knees and reached out. "The future... I could have had." With one final rattling gasp, Cooper toppled forward. If he hadn't put his hands out to catch himself and slow his fall, the act might have approached halfway convincing.

"You're not very good," Brittany said.

"You have to let me into this," Cooper pleaded.

"No," Santana said.

"I'll get you on TMZ."

"I'll get myself on TMZ. And the New York Times. And CNN. And People."

"People," Cooper said dreamily. "Yeah. This is going to get me into People. And Us." He saw Santana's reluctance and said, "I can help you."

"How? How can you help us?"

"I have a broad skillset." He reached into his pocket. "Check out that resume."

Santana squinted at the business card he shoved into her hands. "Why did you print your resume on one of these? I can't even read it."

"I know. The text is too small... because I can do so much stuff." Cooper grinned like a detective catching someone in a logic trap.

This man was exhausting. If only she'd picked any other customer in that restaurant to use as her beard. "Fine, I'll call you," Santana said, and hoped it would get her the hell away from the conversation hell in which she was trapped.

"You promise?"

"I promised Brittany I'd dump your corn-fed ass today, and look at where we are," Santana said. Brittany kissed her on the cheek and turned a possessive, almost feline glare on Cooper. "As soon as you can do something to benefit me in my life of superheroics, I will absolutely call you." And since Cooper Anderson would be able to offer a heroic assist approximately one day after the Equinox of Neverber, it was a pretty safe promise to make.

"Fantastic," Cooper said, flashing his pearly, perfectly-straight whites.

"And this is the point when I leave," Santana said, and walked happily out of Cooper’s life.

"Seriously, why did you pick him?" Brittany asked.

"I don't know," Santana said, slipping her arm around Brittany's narrow waist. "He talked about Iowa. It was... charming, I guess."

"Ohio!" Cooper called after her.

"I don't care!"

"Come on," Brittany said, and kissed Santana sloppily in the open doorway. "Let's go have some orgasms, and then we'll make sure that Finn's arm didn't fall off."

"Can we just do the orgasms?"

"Okay."

* * *

"What do you need to do?" Mercedes asked as she and Quinn approached NYU.

Quinn retrieved a printout from her purse. "I need to buy these reading packets from the bookstore. I'm getting my textbooks online, but there are all these custom things, too."

"And you're getting them so early?" Mercedes wondered as the light turned and they set into motion again. She was only traveling to Houston a few days before Rice’s classes started. If buying books this far ahead of time was normal, she was in a lot of trouble. 

"I checked RateMyProfessor and this guy is apparently infamous for only ordering half as many packets as needed. If I were in charge, my professors wouldn't be able to get away with that."

Mercedes grinned as they checked a campus map against the nearest street signs and tried to orient themselves toward the bookstore. Although Quinn had liked to sit in the back of the room and observe everyone's behavior, she revealed herself as a keen mind and a firm leader when she felt like stepping up. That leadership usually displayed itself when they'd formed study groups. Suddenly, the quiet girl in a cardigan was assigning reading topics, telling people to lead discussion areas, and generally seizing the reins. Some principal was going to underestimate her like crazy when it came time to talking about her kids, ten years out.

"Thanks for not giving me trouble about going to school," Quinn said after they'd walked a half block in silence.

"I'd like to be able to stay home until my kids start kindergarten, whenever that is," Mercedes said. "Or maybe not. I haven't decided, but I don't want people hassling me about wasting my life because I'm staying home or because I'm _not_ staying home. So you do you, girl."

Quinn found her hand and squeezed it. "All through school, Dad told me I need to get As in everything," Quinn said ruefully. "And then, as soon as I graduated, he wants to know why I need to do anything with my life but be married. It turned into a whole discussion about whether Vince wasn't good enough, and that was why I still wanted to go to school. And that's not the problem at all. He's great. I've known him since we were twelve, he'll make a good husband, and I checked his family and none of them have short legs."

Mercedes said nothing, but fought back a smile. 

Quinn continued, "Which is really important. I want any son of mine to be a star athlete, and I don't want any daughter to be limited in the flattering skirts she's able to wear." Quinn Fabray could be the weirdest combination in the world of forward-thinking and totally backwards, and you never knew which would come out until she talked. 

"I thought about applying there," Mercedes said as they approached the bookstore. The heavy stone mass of NYU's art school rose opposite it. Although she hadn't developed her performance skills as much as she probably should have, Mercedes knew that she had a good voice. There was a real chance that she could have gotten into Tisch. But, with friends moving to all corners of the globe and no firm motivation in her life beyond escaping that brutal cold snap, trying somewhere new had sounded fun.

"You could have stayed in the city?" Quinn asked. She had to check a guide inside the store to find the right floor. "I would have liked that."

Sadness pricked Mercedes' heart. "Me, too." Rats. Was this one of those things that you didn't appreciate until it was gone? She should have spent more time with her friends. Maybe they could have applied to Tisch. Maybe they could have hit karaoke bars together, at least. Suddenly, her childhood seemed to be collapsing like a leaky balloon and the idea of figuring her adulthood terrified her. How did a person know who they were supposed to be? Ugh. Growing up was hard. She’d better not get a few months into Rice and start wanting a do-over.

"What are you studying?" Mercedes asked as Quinn’s fingers danced over the class labels on shelves.

"I have no idea what my major will be," Quinn admitted. "Business, maybe. Something practical."

"That’s definitely practical," Mercedes agreed.

"I’ll just take the core classes to start, get them out of the way, and hopefully something will spark my interest." Quinn’s mouth turned up in a smirk as she pawed through the full stacks. "And hopefully, I’ll manage to pick classes with women who don’t show off a forest when they raise their arms."

Mercedes eyed the girls who’d sparked that comment. One had a shaved head, the other had a factory’s worth of metal embedded in her face. The first girl, who did only use a razor on her scalp, reminded her of a neighbor out in Queens. "I don’t know, Quinn, it’s college in New York. You’re probably going to run into a lot of girls like that."

"Girls do not look like they stepped out of Mad Max," Quinn said, collecting her packets. " _Girls_ shop at Sephora."

"So I guess you’re not majoring in women’s studies," Mercedes said wryly.

Quinn snorted.

"Right."

"Coffee," Quinn decided as her purchase was rung up. "We need coffee."

"We always need coffee," Mercedes said. "Let’s go find a good place and check out more of your future classmates." _And see if you keep going all judgy-pants on anyone who doesn’t look like they stepped out of the J. Crew catalog._ Despite coming from opposite ends of the spectrum on so many things, Quinn actually reminded her of Kurt. Isolated, cold, and suspicious on some days, but warm, helpful, and determined on others, and always with perfect hair. They could have made good friends, Mercedes decided, if not for how Quinn probably thought that he was destined for hell with the whole godless gay thing.

She missed Kurt, too. Ugh, she missed everyone. She even missed Finn. 

No, she didn’t.

Maybe she did.

She definitely missed Kurt and Brittany, sort of missed Puck, and... yeah, okay, she missed Rachel, Finn, and Santana. If she had to be honest with herself, she missed them all. They really should have done more together before graduation. Their loose friendships could have turned into something bigger, and maybe they would have been going to Tisch instead of flying thousands of miles away.

"Strawberry Italian soda," Mercedes told the barista when Quinn offered to pay at the shop they eventually settled upon. Quinn shot her a sidelong look as she paid their tab, and pulled her aside to wait.

"I thought we were getting coffee," she almost pouted.

"Anything in a coffee shop counts as 'coffee,' and it’s July."

"Fine. I just had an image of being so very adult with our coffee, and—" Quinn sucked air between her teeth as a commotion erupted in the small space. "And what just pushed its way in?"

Whatever the thing was in that shop, it was terrifying. This was not some random robber who wanted the money out of the register and women's purses. The man-thing had a face like a ski mask, but sometimes its hidden features would come into view, _blurred._ It looked like an off-key note sounded. It didn't belong in their world.

"Stay quiet," Quinn murmured as it moved toward the register, and grasped Mercedes' wrist with her hand. "It'll take the money and go." 

If only Mercedes had that same faith in its motivations.

The man-thing looked around and grinned when it saw them. Its shadow-wrapped body strode forward, and as the darkness fell apart like a robe, she saw that its legs had one too many joints in them. _A demon's legs,_ Mercedes thought as a whiff of sulfur hit her and the sweat on her back ran cold. The footsteps the creature left behind were burnt. This was that superpowered thing that had been taking girls like Quinn from the NYU campus. If they tried to defend themselves, it could turn them into the same charred mess that it had made of sidewalks along the way.

"Come," it hissed at Quinn. Its voice was a chorus of broken bells.

"No," she whispered.

The demon’s eyes narrowed. A second set of eyelids, translucent like a snake’s, twitched shut and opened again. It didn’t like being told 'no.'

Mercedes' eyes flicked to the side. Oh, with how that thing was made of fire and shadow, she really hoped this plan worked, because there wasn't much else to try. With a roar to get the thing's attention and keep it away from Quinn, Mercedes grabbed the full pot of brewed drip coffee sitting on the counter and smashed it over the man-thing's head. Hot coffee splashed across her bare arms, burning, but she barely noticed through the adrenaline. The demon screeched and turned to her with blazing eyes.

Moving whip-fast, Quinn lunged forward and yanked down on the one thing on the creature that seemed to fit into their world: a small silver medallion hanging on a chain. The chain snapped, and the thing howled as it lunged again.

Mercedes moved just as quickly as Quinn had. The half-full pot of decaf met the shadow monster full in its shifting face, and its last chance to attack them passed.

The creature shrieked as the links of its necklace began to fade into nothing. Shadows twisted like dying flames, and it reached its clawed hand to the ceiling like a drowning man trying to hold onto air. It collapsed inward, ever-darker, and the jet black mass began to crack with streaks of sickly light. That green and orange glow grew until it had consumed the shadows, and then, with one last unearthly flash, the man-thing vanished. The small metal medallion landed at Quinn's feet, no bigger than a quarter, and she scooped it up.

"Do you want to be touching that?" Mercedes asked as she looked at it. It _was_ a quarter, but someone had melted a strange symbol over Washington's face. It looked evil, frankly.

"Something just tried to kill me," Quinn said, studying the symbol. The pad of her thumb traced its melted lines. "I want to know who thought they could kill _me_ , because that just does not happen."

"How'd you know to grab that?" Mercedes wondered. For that matter, how had the two of them not shrieked with terror and just curled up in a ball and waited to die?

"I wanted to kick it in the crotch, but this was the only thing that actually looked solid. So... I hoped."

"Good hoping," Mercedes said. Now that they weren't in immediate danger, her arms were starting to hurt. The barista offered her a towel soaked in cold water. With it on, she realized that the entire population of the coffee shop was staring at the two girls with something close to awe.

"The police," Quinn said, breathing a sigh of relief at the flashing lights. She slipped the rune-melted quarter into her pocket before they came. "Everything's going to be okay."

* * *

It was only after Finn had taken more Mutant Growth Hormone that Noah Puckerman realized the obvious: he and Finn Hutton should not be left alone with a chance to do something stupid. The two of them _defined_ stupid together: they did stupid things for fun, had stupid arguments, and generally avoided anything that required an IQ over 90. That was fine, usually. The movie industry made an awful lot of money each year off people who didn’t want to think about what they were watching.

 _Before_ Finn had taken the drugs, though, Puck was willing to go along for the ride. Puck might love stupidity, but he hated foresight.

The baggie of pills sat on the dinner table, as lumpy as a bag of potatoes. There was enough there to fight an entire army with purchased superpowers. With a deep breath, Finn reached into the bag and swallowed what he retrieved.

"Wait, did you take two?" Puck asked suspiciously. 

"I wanted it to last longer," Finn said. "Yeah, I took two."

Great. Now Finn had set himself up for a MGH overdose. Kurt was seriously going to kill him. "If you get those powers Santana got," Puck warned him, "and you burn out of control, I'm throwing you out of the apartment before you set everything on fire."

"You think powers could actually burn out of control?" Finn asked nervously.

"I don't know! Do you think I know all about illegal drugs?"

"Uh. Yeah. Sort of," Finn said.

Puck scowled. "This was a bad idea. Maybe you should puke them up."

"What?" Finn said, and skittered away from Puck when Puck came at him with two fingers. "Dude, what are you doing?"

"You’re just supposed to do something with your fingers like this," Puck said, wiggling them, "and you’ll throw up."

"I don’t want to throw up!"

"Well, you shouldn’t have taken two pills!" Puck jabbed his fingers at Finn like a rapier. "Throw up! What if you Hulk out?"

"Well, if I’m gonna Hulk out," Finn countered, "then maybe you shouldn’t be pissing me off by trying to get me to throw up!"

Dammit, he was right. Puck _hated_ when Finn was right, because it happened so infrequently and always at the most obnoxious time.

"If I don’t get telepathy," Finn said, "what all could I get? Besides Hulking out, I mean?"

"Well, besides what we had... you could turn into metal, or run really fast, or fly, or... I don’t know, man. What if taking two pills means that you get two sets of powers at once? What if you get ice and fire at the same time, and you melt?"

"I don’t want to melt," Finn said, biting his lip. "Maybe I really should throw them up, and try again with one."

Good. If Kurt came back to find out that Puck had assisted in melting his brother, he’d never let Puck melt Kurt into a blissed-out puddle after riding him like a jet plane. (One, Kurt would feel like he’d gone above the clouds; two, he’d have a return trip after a short wait in Recoveryville; three, it would involve drink service.)

"Jesus, dude," Finn groaned, "if you’re gonna try to make me throw up, just do it with your fingers."

"Huh?"

"I don’t want to hear about Kurt’s legs on your shoulders! I shouldn’t have to tell you this!" Finn brightened. "Wait: did I just get brain powers again?"

"Uh, what am I thinking about right now?" Puck asked, and pictured a tube of lube. It wasn’t intentional. His mind was on a sex track, and it was always hard to get off that once he’d started.

Finn frowned. "A weird little tube of toothpaste?"

"Yes," Puck said solemnly, and hoped Finn would stop peering inside his brain. "Looks like you lucked out."

"Do you think it’s really luck if I got the same thing twice when we were all getting random powers?" Finn wondered. A glass glowed purple and he grinned as it floated off the counter, then frowned as it slipped from his mental grip and shattered on the floor. _Telekinesis,_ Puck realized. It was what had sent the motorcycle flying away from Finn with only one broken bone instead of a shattered body. Too bad that Finn didn’t seem to have much control.

With a sigh, Puck got the dustpan. "Maybe not. Maybe you really are destined to have chick powers."

"Gross," Finn said. "But at least I see the brain stickers again."

"Don’t."

"That’s why I did this, though," Finn said. "They’re there and I want to know why. They’re in all of your brains. I can still feel them in yours, and... _fuck_ , stop picturing Kurt!"

Puck tried to stop thinking of blowjobs. It was hard, like his dick would be with Kurt’s mouth around it. Dammit! He really needed to properly seduce Kurt so he wouldn’t feel bad about having their first time together. And their tenth. And their thousanth.

Finn shot him a baleful look, then closed his eyes. "Your neighbor’s next door, but he doesn’t have stickers on his brain. It’s just us that have them. And the more I pay attention to them, the more I want to know what they’re hiding."

"Nope," Puck said as he dropped the shattered glass fragments into the trash. "Stop it."

"No, it’s seriously weird," Finn said. "It’s all these things that I should be looking right past, like they’re trying to pretend that they’re not there. But I’ve noticed them, and now that I have, I can’t stop. Something’s missing in my head, and I’m just going to—"

The sight of Finn going pale twisted Puck’s stomach. Finn’s eyes were vacant and his mouth was slack. _Fuck._ Had he just lobotomized himself? "Finn?" Puck asked, getting up in his face without the reaction he wanted. "Come on, man. Are you in there? What did you do?"

Finn stared out at nothing, hollow.

Puck slapped him hard. "Finn! You had fucking better still be in there, because if I have to explain to Kurt that I sat and watched—"

Finn caught Puck’s arm just as Puck moved to slap him, but not with his good hand. A wave of near-invisible force caught Puck’s hand in a faintly purple vise and held it still, with perfect control.

"Finn?" Puck asked again.

"Oh my god," Finn said, though he didn’t seem to be talking to Puck. "I’ve been Dad’s favorite again. We never moved, we never went through anything, I never worked with Emma. I... I don’t remember _everything_ , but I remember...."

"Who’s Emma?" Puck asked. "Dude, seriously, did you zap your brain into a cabbage, or can your eyes focus? Can we hide this from Kurt when he gets home?"

"In this world... I never grew up," Finn said to himself. "I never changed." His shoulders slumped like a collapsing building.

"Finn?" Puck tried, one last time.

"And I am such a douchebag."


	9. What You Do Today

He was a douchebag. It was so blindingly, painfully true. 

Finn pawed through his mind in mute shock. The memories of this world were bright, shallow, and flashy like animated cels in Saturday morning colors. The other, hidden world was faded in comparison, because it was real. In the summer, grass went brown around the edges; bright autumn leaves faded by the end of the season; winter was like a black-and-white movie. It was no wonder that it would be easier to have his attention held by the candy-colored false memories that screamed for attention. Some clumsy but strong hand had rewritten their lives in broad strokes.

Just because it was fake and colorful, though, didn't mean that it was better. He, Finn, had grown up as the worst possible version of himself. _Oh my god, Mike's face when he walked in on me and Tina. And Tina never wanted to kiss me, she just didn't know how to say no. I never noticed Kurt growing up lonely. I...._

"I'm calling an ambulance," Puck decided, and Finn's head snapped up. As Puck's fingers brushed against the phone handset, it glowed purple and floated away.

"I'm here," Finn said, dazed. "I'm awake. Don't call."

Puck dug into his pocket and retrieved his cell phone, but didn't dial. Not yet. "What's going on? Did you fry your brain?"

"I remember... not everything, but enough." The Kurt in this world was sad, defensive, and brittle. Rachel's ego was like some runaway racecar with her good heart clinging helplessly to the wheel. Santana had shoved away Brittany and thought it was the best option, fiercely independent Quinn was doing exactly what everyone else wanted of her, and Mike and Tina never had that kick in the pants from hard-earned confidence. Puck felt like he could be boiled down to his junk and tongue without any loss of value. And... well, Brittany, Artie, and Mercedes were all actually pretty great in both places, but their strength served to show how much the others had changed in comparison. 

Finn exhaled. "We need to fix this. Do you have Santana and Brittany's numbers? They need to come over tonight, after Kurt gets home."

After a long beat, Puck put away his phone. "I'm listening. What are you seeing in your brain right now? What was going on in that 'reality' world?"

"I used to train with this hot X-Man in a lot of white leather."

"Emma Frost," Puck instantly said. "Nice."

"Yeah, her. She trained me to uncover memories that I didn't even know were hidden, and I... I guess I remembered. We spent a lot of lessons on that until I could do it in my sleep." Finn looked down. "And she taught me not to be an asshole."

Puck's eyebrow raised. _Well damn, someone get the lady a medal._

"I know, I know." Finn worked his hands together. "Sorry. I didn't mean to listen in. I think it'll take a little bit of practice to have everything settle." He exhaled. "As for what I'm seeing right now... well, I guess I'm seeing what everyone was like when we all had superpowers. When we all went through stuff together." He hadn't recovered all of his memories yet, but from what had been easy to unearth, those empowered versions of themselves weren't only better because of their superpowers. 

"And?"

"Everything seems better there," Finn said. "We seem better there. And we seemed like actual heroes. All of us. If the world's supposed to be saved? Then I'm guessing someone shoved us here to get us out of the way, so they'd have an easier time of ruining it."

Puck considered that. "What about me and him?"

Although some memories still hid in his mind like lurking wolves, Finn remembered _that_ all too clearly. "Kurt and I lived together," he recalled, "and I kept leaving so I wouldn't feel it in my head when you and he... ugh. Yeah, you were together. All the time. Gross."

Puck grinned. "I'll call Brittany and Santana." Optimism surged in his heart. 

Finn didn't mind feeling that, but he tried to ignore the accompanying horniness. 

"And if we're really getting everything worked out right now," Puck said, giddy, "then I need to plan a date."

* * *

The NYPD was used to hosting frantic family members after a rescue. They were less accustomed to all of their friends poking their heads into the mix.

"I think it was going after Quinn," Mercedes said. Her arms were bandaged where the hot coffee had splashed. Although not severely injured—thankfully, the place didn't seem to pride itself on serving the hottest coffee in town—the skin had started to throb in the hour since the attack. The policemen in the room took dutiful notes on everything she said, and it did feel like the worst was over, but she wanted her parents there. They were returning from a trip to D.C. That took time. 

Quinn glanced at Mercedes. "It seemed to have been going after both of us, really."

Mercedes shook her head and addressed the room. "Have you noticed the girls who've vanished from NYU, taken by that thing? They all kinda look like her." The two officers nodded at each other. They'd probably come to the same conclusions as their group of investigation-minded friends: that thing stalking the streets of Manhattan was after a very narrow spectrum of 'beautiful girls,' with some random mutant-killing to spice things up or cut its teeth.

Quinn's parents were less assured about the whole affair. "Some _thing_ was going after my daughter?" Mr. Fabray asked.

"I don't understand," said Mrs. Fabray. "How could the school let this happen, if they knew something was going on?"

"It had superpowers," Artie said. He shrank under their sudden attention. "Mercedes asked us to come out to talk with the police because we've been tracking this thing. The guy has powers, so it would have been hard for anyone to stop. I mean, it had powers. Not has. Please stop glaring at me, Mr. Fabray. I didn’t have anything to do with it."

The man huffed. "Some superpowered murderer was stalking campus and they didn't shut things down? They just kept running the bookstore and telling kids to stop on by?"

"Dad, it's in the middle of the city, and it's been attacking other people, too," Quinn said. "It wasn't just a NYU thing. You can’t exactly shut down New York."

"Well, it attacked one store," the officer said. He frowned and checked his notes. "That wasn't an abduction like the girls, though. That was a robbery and homicide."

Mike's brow dipped. "A robbery? Some shadow demon kidnapper robbed a... game and comics store?"

"The victim had defensive wounds on his hands and forearms, so he was right there in the thick of things. We’re not sure whether he was a target or just got caught up in the thing’s assault. Either way, it was definitely a change from the abduction pattern with these students."

"But that thing looked evil," Mercedes said. The memories made her shiver. "Literally evil. Why would it want a bunch of comic books?"

"I told you that Dungeons & Dragons is satanic," murmured Mrs. Fabray to her husband.

The police returned to collecting statements from everyone and this time they included Quinn's friends. Artie shared everything they'd observed about the killer, including what they'd taken from X-Factor's notes about the assaults in Mutant Town. The blank looks that earned revealed how very little the NYPD cared about what happened to the inhuman residents of that neighborhood. In service of stopping future assaults on NYU, though, they took down every bit of information the group had to share.

"X-Factor would probably have more to tell you if you talked to them yourselves," Artie suggested.

The cops made a lot of noise to hide the obvious fact that they weren't about to commit any of their co-workers to stepping inside the mutant ghetto. Mercedes' mouth tightened. They weren't even being subtle, just like those taxi drivers who seemed to have turned on their sign by accident when a dark-skinned potential rider tried to get their attention. Gross.

A commotion at the door drew everyone's attention. They turned to see a flustered young man making his way inside. Mercedes recognized him from his Facebook pictures: Vince Galati, Quinn's husband-to-be. He was the perfect model of a Boy Next Door, tweaked just right to fit New York. Jet black hair was an endearingly floppy mess across his forehead and rich brown eyes were big like a puppy's. Those puppy eyes were crinkled in dismay. "Baby, are you okay?"

Quinn held out her arms and her fiancé pulled her into a deep embrace, then kissed her soundly. "I'm okay. Mercedes saved me."

"We saved each other," Mercedes corrected with a smile. The Fabrays shot her a look of deep gratitude.

"I'm really okay," Quinn assured Vince when his worry didn't ebb. "I promise. It didn't even touch me."

"I wasn't here," he said. "They called me and I was on a train, and I got off at the next stop, but I wasn't even here. I'm so sorry."

"It hasn't even been two hours, I really think you're fine, dude," Artie said. Mike hid a smile behind his hand.

"I promise," Vince said as he stroked the back of his hand against Quinn's cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned into the movement, as gentle as if he were touching their future child. "I won't ever leave you alone again, baby."

"It's fine," she murmured. "I know you were going to visit family. I'm not mad at you."

The way his eyebrows crinkled said that he couldn't quite bring himself to believe her. Every movement this guy made screamed "How did I ever get her to say yes?" He was a definite cutie, but wasn't in Quinn's unbelievable league, nor did he have the maturity that she sometimes wrapped around herself like armor. He seemed like a normal teenage boy right after graduation, well-intended but overwhelmed, and worried that his fiancée would wake up and fly off to marry some prince like a modern-day Grace Kelly.

Sure, Mercedes might be reading into things a little, but she'd gotten used to analyzing wistful boyfriend expressions on Mike.

_Speak of the devil,_ Mercedes thought, although she felt instantly bad for the label. 

At the door, making the same hurried entrance as Vince had, was Tina Cohen-Chang. Her face was shiny with sweat, even under the heavy powder she'd applied to match her goth outfit. Her other makeup had also smudged in the heat. She looked like she'd run all the way there and made a mess of herself in the process. "Artie texted me," she said to Mercedes, and gasped at her bandaged arm. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay. It hurts, but I'm okay. So's Quinn."

"It's a zoo in here," complained one of the officers as the teens chattered.

Mercedes flicked a glance to Mike, who didn't know whether to look at Tina with his old, loving expression, glare with the indignation of a broken-hearted man, or just not look at her at all. He settled on the third option and stared between his feet.

"I... maybe I should have called first," Tina said when she realized the awkwardness her arrival had caused. "Artie sent me a text, but...."

"Why call first?" asked Mr. Fabray with a thin, false cheer. "We've already turned my daughter's assault into a three-ring circus."

"Mercedes is the one who got hurt, Dad," Quinn reminded him.

"Sir, Ma'am?" the second officer asked the Fabrays. "Let me talk to you for a second."

The five friends and Quinn's fiancé were left in a semi-circle as the older adults left them for a side room. Silence reigned for a few long beats. Vince seemed content to hold Quinn's hand and assure himself that she was alive and undamaged. Artie kept looking between Tina and Mike like he expected a bomb to go off, and Mercedes shot Artie a dirty look. Texting Tina right then hadn't been the brightest idea he'd ever had.

"What happened?" Tina asked.

They filled in her and Vince, talking over each other to explain everything: the killings in Mutant Town, the shop murder, the abductions, the superpowers, the coffee house. Tina's dark eyes glittered with purpose by the time they'd finished. Vince's tan skin had turned a sickly grey. His arms wrapped around Quinn protectively, but she looked like the one holding him up. "I'm never stepping more than twenty feet from you again," Vince said.

Quinn kissed his cheek. "It'd be a little hard to make mortgage payments like that, honey. And what about college?"

"So you're both going to school?" Tina asked, studiously avoiding looking at Mike.

"Gotta go to college," Vince said. His smile was nervous again. "Did you hear that India and Pakistan are ready to start shooting over their border? Everyone’s all freaked out already, and that could set everything off."

"I thought it was those American carriers near China. About to set things off, I mean."

"Like I said," Vince said. "Everyone’s freaking out."

"Mmmhmm," Quinn nodded. "Yes, we’re both going to college. We're going to work in the summers, and our parents are covering school. You know, our parents all have good tuition options through work, and Vince's parents—"

"About that," said Mrs. Fabray, having returned mid-sentence. "Honey, maybe you shouldn't go to NYU this year." Her husband had the same grim look of acceptance.

Shocked, Quinn asked, "What?"

"The officers said that they don't know what's behind these attacks, and they did identify that pretty girls like you were getting taken. If it starts up again... you might not be so lucky."

Vince said nothing and conflict warred across his face. Quinn sputtered until answering, "It's a campus in the middle of millions of people, Mom. I think my odds are pretty good."

"Honey, you're hoping to start a family right away, right?" Mrs. Fabray walked to her daughter, stroked her arm, and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "If you're only going to go for a semester, why go at all, really?"

"Because I want to," Quinn said, betrayed. "And I don't know that I'll stop school if I get pregnant."

"You wouldn't?" Vince asked in surprise. "I mean... you know, it’s only really guys who have to worry if they start drafting people. You don’t have to go to school to keep yourself safe."

"I might stop, but I might go right back or go part-time, or...." Quinn's normal self-composure began to fall away like autumn leaves under her parents' eyes. "I want to go to college!"

"But you'll be so busy with babies before you know it," her mother gently argued.

"There's a couple on the Avengers that is fine with having kids," Quinn said. "And I'm sure those girls keep them a just little busier than my classes would."

"You pay that much attention to the Avengers?" Mr. Fabray asked.

"She thinks Captain America is cute," Mrs. Fabray said with a sigh.

"You like him?" Vince asked, his ego a pulsing, vulnerable target.

Forget India and Pakistan or the U.S. and China; this room was ready to erupt. "You know," Mercedes said, "Quinn and I did a lot of walking today, and then we did a lot of creepy demon-killing, and I think we're pretty wiped. Maybe we could hold off on the family argument until she's had a chance to take a nap?"

"Dad, I really want to go to school," Quinn said, on the verge of frustrated tears.

"Your little friend is right," said Mr. Fabray. "Let’s all relax, and we’ll have a more sensible discussion later this week, all right? I think we all need to do some thinking about the future."

Quinn’s friends frowned around her. Even Tina and Mike managed to look at each other without cringing, although it was a close thing.

"Excuse me," Artie said when he realized the police were dismissing them. "Are you really gonna check out what that guy did in Mutant Town, too? Because we followed all of it and we could tell you what we found. Or you could just talk to X-Factor."

"Sure," said one of the officers condescendingly. His smile slithered onto his face. "We’ll check it all out, kids, don’t you worry."

"Call me," Quinn said as her parents and fiancé walked her out of the police station. Her eyes added a silent "Please."

"That was way less satisfying than I expected from my first police visit to discuss my serial killer investigation," Artie said as they watched the Fabrays leave the hallway and heard the conference room doors close behind them.

"At least you’re not the one whose arm got fried," Mercedes pointed out. Under the bandages, her skin throbbed. Her parents needed to get back from D.C. pronto.

"Hi," Tina said to Mike. 

Oh, the wall had been breached, sound the alarm. From their classes together, it had been apparent to everyone that Mike Chang was crazy in happy-smiling-movie-musical-love with Tina Cohen-Chang. With her, he looked outward instead of in, and finally stopped acting like the most handsome and talented boy that somehow couldn’t even bear to get tagged in a Facebook photograph. 

Maybe Tina would come to her senses and get back with him. Or maybe Mike would say how hurt he was, and they’d scream it out and debate whether they’d been dating enough for what she had done to count as cheating. Mike would act like a real boy instead of some smiling daywalking zombie. That boil would be lanced even if it hurt to see while the ugliness spilled. Either way, so long as they did something, it would be progress.

"Hi," Mike said, looking down at his feet again.

Or not.

"Artie," Mercedes said, grabbing Tina’s arm, "will you go talk with Mike about whatever?"

"...What whatever?"

"Literally whatever. You two fanboying over X-Factor. Quinn’s sweetie’s hair. Hamburgers. Just go talk about things somewhere that’s not here."

"Subtle," Artie said, and wheeled off.

As soon as the two boys rounded a corner, Mercedes rounded on Tina. "You screwed up."

Arms folded in front of her, Tina shrugged and looked everywhere but at Mercedes’ face. "We weren’t dating."

"Don’t even pull that, you were so dating."

"He never asked me out, he never... Mike and I just sort of fell into spending time together," Tina said. 

"You love Michael Chang like that sad couple on Love Story, and don’t argue with me. Except that instead of one of you dying at the end, it ended with you counting Finn’s fillings with your tongue." From Finn and Rachel’s perpetual makeouts in public, every single one of them knew that Finn wasn’t the most genteel of kissers. Add some liquor to their systems and Finn and Tina’s public debut had looked like to a snake trying to swallow a rat: all open jaws, no finesse.

"That just sort of happened, too," Tina said. Mercedes' flat look raised her hackles. "Like you even know, it's not like you've ever dated anyone."

Mercedes nearly left right then. She lived in an older neighborhood in Queens, and there were few boys around to meet. Add in the class population of their tiny school and how everyone was either already dating or more like an obnoxious brother, and no, she hadn't dated. It wasn't some personal failing, and she was about to move to Texas and meet a lot of nice polite Southern boys, and Tina could go step off a high cliff.

"Sorry," Tina said.

"You're not sorry." Mercedes studied her. "Do you even like Finn, or do you just like that he picked _you?_ "

"I like him!" Tina protested. "He's funny, and he tries hard, and he calls me all the time, and...."

"And Finn left," Mercedes said. 

"I know. He said he wanted to see Kurt." Tina’s folded arms tightened around her. "I like that he’s close to his family. And both of us are friends with Kurt, you know. Maybe you’re just yelling at me because you’re jealous that he’s going to be my brother-in-law and not yours.

The jab was so absurd that it only made Mercedes laugh. Tina's tension boiled over, too, and when it settled she looked ashamed of herself. "Yeah," Mercedes giggled, "I'm jealous because I don't get Kurt for an in-law when _you marry Finn._ "

"Shut up," Tina grumbled, coloring under her sweat-streaked powder.

"Because this is definitely going to last," Mercedes continued merrily. "You and Finn is a for-life thing, right? You want to have little babies with him and move to Long Island and get cats?"

"Don't make me move to Long Island," Tina pleaded.

"No, you have to. When you marry Finn, you have to move to Long Island."

Tina hesitated. When she spoke, what poured out sounded like it had been building for a long time. "Everything was always about Finn and Rachel, Finn and Rachel, Finn and Rachel. And then all of a sudden he wanted me, Mercedes. Finn was always the middle of everything, and it felt like no one even saw me. I didn't know if Mike even did, because we never... it was always this big question I was too scared to ask."

"So was he," Mercedes pointed out. "We were both waiting for you to realize you were practically going steady."

"Finn said everything I wanted to hear." And Mike never had, because Mike would always be afraid that he wouldn't hear it back.

"You mean he built up your ego like he got trained to do from Rachel Berry."

Tina cringed. "You're right." She looked around furtively, and leaned in closer to whisper, "He’s too tall and he always taste like Pringles. I like potatoes and all, but by this point I feel like I’m french-kissing Idaho."

"Girl, I do not want to hear about you french-kissing Finn Hutton."

"He is cute," Tina argued, but without much effort behind it. "I just... it's what happened."

"Well, maybe you should ask if you want it to happen. I'm not saying you have to break up with him, but I'm just saying that... well, you dumped Mike Chang to date Finn, and I kind of want to slap you upside the head for it."

"I didn't officially dump him. I didn't do anything wrong. Too much."

"Then why have you been avoiding everyone?" Mercedes asked, and she knew she had her. "Promise me you'll talk to the boys when Finn gets back? However it works out, it works out, but what's going on now isn't good for anyone."

Tina sighed and nodded. "I will. But I don't know why Finn took off, Mercedes. Yeah, he visited Kurt, but he sent me a text saying that he did some extra work in Hollywood. Is he making big plans to move there permanently? I don't know! If he's thinking about bigger plans," she mused, "then we could just break up when he moves away, and I wouldn't even need to talk to him about it...."

Oh, no. The girl had screwed up. She wasn't getting out of it quite this easily. "It’s Finn," Mercedes said, patting her on the shoulder. "We both know that boy, and so we know he’s not thinking about anything bigger than a TV remote."

* * *

"We’re trapped here," Finn explained. "Something’s stuck us in this world, and we need to figure out how to get back home."

"No, we’re supposed to save the world," Kurt said. And it was obviously in need of saving, with a world war threatening to break out if a few leaders woke up on the wrong side of the bed. "How can we save the world if we just abandon it?"

"Maybe we’re supposed to save _that_ world by making it pop back up," Santana said. "You know, the world where everything will be way more awesome, and we can just leave behind this craphole." The boys seemed unconvinced, and she added, "We’d be saving _a_ world, right?"

"So long as Santana and I get married," Brittany said firmly, "I don’t care what world we’re in. That was the whole reason I worked on finding the dinosaur."

"Well, you guys are... probably going to get married there?" Finn said, scratching the side of his head. "If I remember right?" Even that filmy memory was a good enough promise for Brittany, and she smiled proudly and sat back like a reclining cat. 

"Since when are we listening to this walking tube of Pillsbury biscuit dough?" Santana asked, frowning at the attention Brittany was paying to Finn. Everyone ignored her.

"Who do you think stuck us here?" Puck asked. 

"I don’t know," Finn admitted. "Some stuff is still hidden, and it kind of feels like they’re under scabs instead of stickers. If I pull those off, my brain might start...."

"Bleeding?" Kurt supplied.

"Basically." Finn scratched the side of his head. "I wish I could just show everyone everything right now, but I don’t think it’s safe. I can pull off the stickers I can see, but you need to heal up before I pull off the scabs. Or I just need more practice, or...."

"Seriously, you couldn’t have chosen a better metaphor than you pulling off our scabs?" Santana asked, her nose wrinkling. "It’s gross enough just having you exist next to me. You didn’t need to turn up that nausea volume."

Finn eyed her balefully, then popped another MGH pill. "I’ll peel off the easy stickers for anyone who wants it, and keep chowing down on these until I’m practiced enough to avoid any... bleeding on the harder stuff."

Puck frowned. "Okay, how do we know you haven’t just gone nuts, though, and that’s why you think you’re seeing that stuff?" When Finn didn’t have an answer for him, he turned to the others and said, "If he’s just gonna make us go crazy, too, then this is a stupid idea. If he messed up his brain, why do the same to ours?" The look he gave Finn was only a slight apology. Far more of it reminded Finn of Finn's stupid ideas, and how they themselves had just gotten over a fight because of rash decisions.

It was a fair concern. Still, if they were going to make any progress, someone had to be willing to be Finn's guinea pig. "Why don’t you write down what you think you know," Kurt said carefully, "and then peel off one of my... stickers? I remember what regaining a memory feels like from falling back in love with Puck, and if our memories match up, then that says something. I don’t know exactly what it says, but...." Puck looked worried, and Kurt smiled at him. "It’s okay. Finn won’t hurt me. I promise." He really hoped that Finn wouldn't disappoint him.

"Better not," Puck grumbled.

Nodding, Finn jotted words down. He folded the paper and handed it to Brittany, and then placed the fingers of his good hand on Kurt’s temple. "Stay calm." 

Kurt swallowed, his gut churning, and felt more worried the harder he tried to relax. Only Puck’s hand rubbing circles on his back soothed him. With a curious rush of energy, he felt Finn’s telepathy dive into his mind and peel away _something_. The memory block curled up smoothly and fell from sight, just like the sticker Finn had described. Kurt gasped with its departure. Scuffed linoleum, bright lockers, acoustic tiles, a piano. "I remember living in Ohio. There was a club... a music club. We were hidden there, and oh my god, how many times have our lives been jerked around?"

Finn nodded to Brittany. She solemnly opened the folded letter and read from it. "New Directions in Lima, Ohio."

"Lie-mah," Finn corrected. "Not like the place in Peru."

"Fine. In Lima, Ohio." Brittany cleared her throat. "New Directions was awesome except when everyone fought over a baby and break-ups and solos. We were being spied on by a secret agent, and then we all moved back to New York. Wait, did I have a baby? Because that’d be awesome. Or if I had a parrot."

"Did Kurt live near Central Park?" Puck asked over her, his eyes narrow with suspicion. When Finn grinned and pointed at him, Puck pointed at his forehead. "Do my brain next. All of it. He’s right after all, guys. That’s the real world we need to get back to. That’s reality, that’s what the girl’s spell was pointing me toward." He gasped when Finn’s eyes glowed, and then grinned. "Of course, I worked at the fucking port in Red Hook! That’s how I knew how to get that job in Long Beach!"

"Me!" Brittany said. "Do me next." Finn’s hand starfished against Brittany’s forehead and she exhaled in wonder. "Santana, we had our own TV show!"

"Fine," Santana said, her voice lazy with affected disinterest, though she looked ready to vibrate where she sat. "Since you don’t seem to be lobotomizing people, pull off my stickers." Finn’s eyes glowed and hers went wide. Santana’s words were slow and deliberate when she recovered. "We had a killer apartment, and we didn’t even have to make rent on it. I was right. We were famous. Everything is perfect there."

"Pull off every sticker you can find for me, Finn," Kurt said as he finished with everyone else. "Even the harder ones. Not the scabs, just the stickers that take a little digging to find. We’ll have time for you to figure those out." Finn’s fingertips touched him again and Kurt shuddered out a long gasp. Santana was right: secret agent work, unmatched skill, glamourous apartment, and true love. His life there was undeniably perfect and they had to get back to it, ASAP. Memories surged of times spent with Puck and Kurt’s heart ached like his legs after a long run. It was a good sensation. His heart was about to work like it never had here.

When he saw Kurt’s loving look, even warmer than it had been after the tar pits, Puck returned it. Oh yes, they had to get a move on and get back to that perfect, perfect place.

"Take some pills," Kurt said, and scooped some out for the girls. "We have plenty. If we run out, somehow... I guess we’ll buy more. MGH doesn’t seem to be very expensive."

"Thanks," Santana said as she found a smaller baggie for the pills and tucked them inside her purse. "We need to get everyone here, and we need to find that anchor, chain, and the four seals."

"What if you guys are the seals?" Finn asked, frowning. "Stickers are like seals, right? I pulled off the brain banana stickers. It was the four of you who were here together in the first place and figured out that there was something going on."

"The seals are not people, Finn," Kurt said impatiently. "The seals are things that have to be _broken_." He allowed, "But we could very well be the anchor or chain, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you and your powers were one of those, pulling everyone into place."

Finn grinned at the praise.

"Let's make a plan of attack," Santana said as she squatted in front of the coffee table and began scribbling notes. "We'll ask everyone if they can see anything that might be a seal. Whether or not they see one, then we get them to come out to L.A."

"Wait, why are you all convinced that everyone else needs to be here?" Finn asked.

"The three-eyed psychic told us that everyone has to come to Los Angeles," Brittany said.

"Oh," Finn said. Kurt shrugged when Finn looked at him, and blessedly, Finn seemed to have reached a stage of acceptance over their mutant psychic on the beach. 

"Do you think anything might be in Ohio?" Puck wondered. "If they hid us there before, maybe there’s something that explains why we got hidden again."

"We might be able to convince our friends to come out to Los Angeles," Kurt said, "but there’s no way we’re going to convince them to fly out to a tiny little town in the middle of nowhere and start looking for... for we don’t even know." His mind itched and he sat back, frowning. There was an answer there just waiting for him. He felt as out-of-sorts as Puck had in those first days after the dinosaur. It was beyond unpleasant.

"Santana," Brittany said. "I super don’t want you to, but...."

"I know," Santana groaned.

"What?" Puck asked.

"I might be able to ask someone about living in smalltown Ohio," Santana grumbled. "The guy I just dumped comes from there. His family’s still in the area. Maybe he could talk to them."

"Really?" Finn asked, grinning. "Wow. Maybe it really was fate that you picked him."

"Maybe my fist up your nose would be fate." Santana pouted. "I just escaped Cooper Anderson, I don’t want to start talking to him again! This sucks." Brittany’s pout was even deeper than hers.

The itching inside Kurt’s mind strengthened. _Cooper Anderson. Cooper Anderson._ It probably only sounded familiar because of that dreamy journalist. Still.... "Talk to him?" he asked Santana, more nicely than he’d expected of himself. "Please? It feels like something there is important."

Santana’s face scrunched up. "He really said he was from Ohio?" Santana asked Brittany, pleading. "Not Iowa?"

"I’m pretty sure he said Ohio," Brittany confirmed, as unhappy as Santana seemed to be. "I guess you should talk to him. Yuck."

"Gross. But fine, I’ll do it." Santana gestured to the larger bag of MGH, still on the counter. "Just in case we’re supposed to also do some world-saving here, we should all get used to using our powers again. Everyone, start popping these like Midol in the middle of shark week."

Kurt eyed her. "Is that a period joke?"

"Yes. I wanted to see if I could get you to make that face you’re making right now." Santana blew him a kiss. "So, let’s track down these things that Varinka says we need, break those seals, and get back to paradise."

"I wonder what’s behind those brain scabs," Puck mused. "I wonder if they suck."

"They're things that don’t outweigh us having our own TV show," Santana said, "or Kurt having a fancy condo over the park. The scabs don’t matter. We know that world is perfect, or close enough to it. Focus, Puckerman."

"I hope my arm’s not broken in that world," Finn grumbled. "Dude, I think you broke it before. It better be healed by now, there."

Puck grinned. "Did I throw a motorcycle at you there, too?"

Finn hesitated. His voice was very strange when he said, "No, I don’t think so."

"I could try to heal your arm," Brittany offered, her fingers trailing along Finn’s cast, and his concentration wavered. "My powers let me do anything so long as I want it bad enough, right? And your arm’s not a very big thing to change."

"Do you think you can?" From Finn’s face, he was picturing the same Harry Potter scene that Kurt was: when Gilderoy accidentally removed the bones from Harry’s arm instead of healing them. Some things were best left to movie special effects.

"Well." She hesitated. "I can try."

"Maybe try in a couple of days, after you’ve practiced a little?" Finn asked, and breathed out in relief when she shrugged and nodded.

"We're going to go work on stuff ourselves," Santana said. "Call me if you need us. And let us know when you've got everyone scheduled to come visit, okay?"

"We have to take care of that?" Puck asked.

"Brittany and I are busy taking care of her cat," Santana said. "If you try to get us to shirk our responsibilities, I'll sic PETA on you."

"You just don't want to talk to Artie and Mercedes," Kurt said. For someone who wanted to get back to a world where they all worked together, Santana certainly made a point of keeping everyone but Brittany at arm's length.

Santana didn't seem to care.

"Do you think it’s bad that I didn’t let Brittany heal my arm?" Finn whispered. "I know she’s strong, but I don’t want her doing something dangerous by mistake."

"Okay, guys!" Brittany said brightly. "Let's go fix everything, be heroes, get everyone together, and save the world. It seems like it should take about... a week, right?"

Everyone shrugged at each other. That sounded about right.

* * *

It was a sunny day in Los Angeles, which was the new normal for Kurt’s life. The winds had rolled in from the ocean and cleared the sky into as bright a blue as he ever saw. The change made the day better than most. Between that and how Finn had guided Kurt to a local park with clear purpose, something exciting beckoned. "You're supposed to read this," Finn said, handing Kurt a sheet of paper, although it looked like he’d rather not.

The design was from the magnetic notepad on his refrigerator and the handwriting was Puck's. "I remember Central Park," Kurt read. Confusion etched tiny lines on his face. "Back where we've been together for a long time, not here. You liked the park the most in spring, because there were flowers. I tried to get you flowers in that world's high school, but they're really expensive and I didn't have a job." He turned over the small sheet. "And I just got paid here, but I can't afford flowers all the time now, either. So I hope this is okay, instead." He looked up. Kurt had no idea what Puck was rambling on about. Flowers and Central Park, in the reality where they'd grown up with superpowers? "Do you have any idea what he's talking about?"

"Yeah," Finn said. "And believe me, I didn't take any MGH."

"Huh?" Kurt asked.

"That'll make sense in a little while," Finn grumbled. "Come on. I'm supposed to take you over here and then get out of the way."

"Where are we going?" Kurt asked as he tagged along after his brother. With their memories somewhat restored, it was amazing how their dynamic had changed. No longer was Finn the always superior brother, but was now a man who had an easier road in some directions but found others more challenging. They were far more equal than they had ever been, Finn thought himself less above the people he knew, and he was so much easier to love. 

"Here," Finn said, using his easy vantage point above the crowd, and lead Kurt in a weaving line toward the park. Though not as tall as Finn, Kurt still soon made out where they were headed: a small stage that had been set up near the main promenade. The duo that had been scheduled for that time was at its side. The men were counting a stack of one and five-dollar bills that still probably totaled a fair amount, as thick as it was. One had a guitar slung over his shoulder.

The other man's guitar was apparently the one that Puck had in hand. He grinned when he sighted Finn and Kurt, extended a quick salute to Finn for having made his delivery, and jogged up the two wooden stairs to the rough-hewn stage.

"Finn?" Kurt asked, although his brother was already stepping away to give him space. The people around them turned to the stage when they saw a ready performer. "What's going on?" he asked.

Puck's fingers strummed. Kurt had never heard a guitar cover of the song before, and so didn't recognize the piece until Puck crooned the first lines in a neat match for the timbre of Michael Bublé's original. "I'm not surprised, not everything lasts," Puck began, and the audience nodded appreciatively. Kurt blushed as he realized Puck's gaze was locked on him, blatantly so, so that everyone could see exactly the boy to whom he was singing.

"I might have to wait, I'll never give up," Puck sang. A woman next to Kurt elbowed him good-naturedly. He caught Finn looking at him from further off in the audience, rolling his eyes but smiling as he did. A noise halfway between a giggle and a sigh escaped Kurt, and he covered his mouth before his voice spiraled higher.

"And I know that we can be so amazing, and baby, your love is gonna change me," Puck sang. His rich hazel eyes met Kurt's and seemed to glow like the setting sun. "And now I can see every single possibility... and someday I know that it'll all turn out."

It was nearly too much. Puck was singing to him in the middle of Los Angeles and it felt like half of the city was watching them. The words Puck had thrown at Kurt outside of the West Hollywood club returned, and Kurt nearly staggered under their truth. A serenade where everyone could see but sung just for him... if he hadn't already fallen back in love with Puck, this would have been a golden arrow in Cupid's quiver. With his heart already opened, that love swelled until it hurt. Tears beaded from how brightly he smiled, and there was no chance that Puck could take Kurt's expression for anything but happiness.

The last notes faded and Kurt rushed the stage. He hopped up without bothering with the stairs, wrapped his arms around Puck, and kissed him like no one was watching. The hoots behind them were only wind in his ears.

"And I got you flowers," Puck said when they broke off for air.

Kurt swallowed until he could speak. "And you got me flowers?"

Puck pulled up the sleeve of his t-shirt, and Kurt noticed the fresh ink on Puck's bicep that had gone seen but unnoticed in the fading light. Although it was stylized enough not to look like a grandmother's couch, a tattoo of black roses had bloomed on Puck's arm. (Flames were involved, too.) "It cost more than buying one bouquet right away," Puck said, "but this way, every time I touch you, you can kind of think that I'm giving you roses." 

"You got a tattoo," Kurt said, more than a little stunned. "Of roses." Tattoos had always seemed overwhelming. A permanent decision made about one's appearance? A fashion statement that could never be changed? It took a raw sort of courage to which he'd never aspired.

Noah Puckerman had permanently marked himself with _flowers_ , for _him._ Badass flames or not, it was so far away from what the Puck from this world would do that Kurt found himself dizzy. "You didn't have to do all this," he managed as the duo who had reserved the stage took it back from Puck. Kurt let himself be led down to the patchy grass. "I was already in love with you, you know," he said, aiming for airy and landing on breathless.

"But you like stuff like this," Puck replied, grinning. The more flustered Kurt became, the more satisfied he looked. He chucked Kurt under the chin with a crooked finger. "I wanted to make it special. I know you wanted to do this before, but you’re a total sap and I want to do it _right_ so you’d be happy afterward."

Do _this._ They were going to make love, finally and again.

Memories of another world floated into Kurt's mind, weaving through his overwhelming urge to be together with the man he'd remembered he loved. Before Finn had further opened his memories, Kurt's body had wanted to be with Puck in any way it could. Now, he knew exactly what they should do while they had the chance. "You didn't take any pills today, did you?" Kurt asked.

Puck shook his head. "Last night, so I'd heal fast after getting the tat, but not today." His arm was only a little red around the black ink.

Heady with the rush of noise and bodies around them, Kurt felt like his whole body was tingling as he leaned in close and whispered, "I want you inside me." They were words that a younger him never would have dared to voice, but he remembered his cock being surrounded by Puck's heat. There were no secrets there between them.

When he pulled back and met Puck's eyes, they were dark with need.

Kurt's hand splayed against Puck's chest. His heart pounded to match the band onstage. "Because right now we can."

He didn't know how they made it home, nor whether Finn knew they'd left. One minute they were in a crowd, and after only a second of frantic need inside a car that might have been a taxi, they were home and the door was locked. They nearly fell backward into Kurt's room, unbalanced as they worked at each other's waistband. Buttons and zippers had never seemed so complex. Kurt Hutton had never hated clothes so much.

Blessedly, silk and cotton and denim fell away from them in messy piles by the time they’d reached the bed. All of the unease of his childhood was gone with Puck. Having his body exposed was a chance to be even closer with who he loved, rather than screaming his inferiority. Kurt pawed at his covers as they collapsed onto his bed in slow motion, revealing the sheets but not bothering to turn them down. Sheets washed easily. That was good enough.

"It's our first time," Puck said as he skimmed his hand down Kurt's hip, over the bone, and onto the long pale length of his thigh. Kurt bent that leg obligingly, but Puck didn't trace down its inner side toward the entrance he'd be working open. They'd seldom done that, and never for anything but fingers or toys. Puck's superstrength had made it impossible to be intimate that way without a condom, or with only a normal one. The thick hero-designed sheaths that could handle his muscles had proven uncomfortable when he'd tried them on. Both of them were happy to stick with the obvious answer to that challenge: Puck, wide open and willing, and Kurt deep inside him. 

"Not unless you actually do it," Kurt said as he adjusted his position.

"In this world," Puck said. "These bodies. It's our first time. Shouldn't you have candles or something? You like candles."

"I'm fine with no candles," Kurt said. He was beyond fine. His cock felt like it could crush granite or melt steel, and every second longer they waited only sent more hot blood rushing to it.

"I need to find the stuff," Puck said, kissing him again. "You'll have a second, if you want."

Oh, fine. That was the voice of longtime partner Puck who knew him all too well, not first-timer teenage Puck. While Puck dug through drawers, Kurt stood and rummaged through the other nightstand. They looked faintly silly as they worked, bending and twisting and with their erections flopping wantonly. In its peculiar way, that was more romantic than a nervous true first time on a perfect bed of rose petals. Kurt knew Puck's body and he didn't fear Puck finding some fault with his. Romantic knowledge wasn't as exciting as romantic mystery, but it had its good points. 

His hand found a box of tea lights and Kurt laid out a string of them with military precision. They were lit with the same speed. Remembering something, Kurt found a MGH pill, swallowed it, and launched himself back onto the mattress and spread his legs just in time to meet Puck's slick hand.

"You took a pill?" Puck asked as his finger traced Kurt's hole. Kurt nodded, biting his lip. Gently, Puck pushed one finger in to the first knuckle. After Kurt’s muscles tensed instinctively, Puck waited for Kurt's body to relax and accept what he'd be doing to it. Distracting touches on Kurt’s thighs helped the process along.

"Uh huh." Puck worked in and out of him, and Kurt groaned as he felt the drug take effect just as Puck slid in a second slick finger. "It’ll help with... bendy."

"Bendy’s good," Puck agreed. "Maybe it’ll make this go faster, too." Lust graveled his voice. It couldn’t be more obvious that Puck was barely keeping his caveman hindbrain in check. His cock was a thick, dark slab that had always demanded attention while Kurt was slipping in and out of Puck’s ass. For it to get to be the star of its own show, rather than a second thought handjob.... 

_He must be leaking like a bad faucet,_ Kurt thought as Puck stretched him with three broad fingers. Pain burned, sharp at first and then fading into a low throb. This body was a complete virgin. This Kurt hadn't ever fingered himself; having a twin brother who might come into the room at any second was a real mood-killer. Off in Los Angeles, he'd been too busy to do anything but a few jerking sessions that mostly served to remind him how sad and lonely he was.

A flickering candle caught and held his attention. Kurt watched the flame half-lidded, and relaxed around Puck's fingers as the fire danced. When needed, Puck added more lubrication with a practiced hand. Lips parted slackly, Kurt nodded when Puck's hand felt like a promise instead of an intruder.

Leaning up, Puck kissed him and slid his hand slowly free. "Ready?" he asked, one hand between his thighs to guide himself in. 

Kurt hitched a leg over Puck's shoulder as easily as most people might lift their foot off the ground. The MGH pill had settled in, and it felt good. 

"I told Finn—"

"Don't mention him," Kurt laughed throatily. What was wrong with Puck?

"I told him," Puck repeated, the head of his cock pressing against Kurt's entrance and then slipping inside. It hurt again like his fingers had. Puck trembled with the strain of waiting until the lines on Kurt's face eased. Yes, this body was definitely virginal. "I told him that I was gonna marry you."

Suddenly, Puck making love to him was an afterthought. The hot, full feeling inside him as Puck slipped carefully forward was like some distant memory. "You did?" Kurt whispered. Puck sank into him to the root and their bodies mattered again. He shuddered with the feeling of so much of Puck's skin against him and in him. It felt just as complete as when he'd been the one inside. Now that discomfort had passed, perhaps it even felt better.

With agonizing slowness, Puck began to move in and out. Kurt became hyper-aware of his skin where it was stretched around Puck, rings of muscles inside, the faint sweat slicking them both. Mostly, though, he was aware of Puck inside of him. He never wanted to let that union end. How long ago had he thought that Puck was some obnoxious friend trying to score free rent? The days lived in those other lives had changed them more than crossing a continent ever could. "Yes," he panted as Puck's pace sped.

Puck grunted, a thick noise of confusion mixed with pleasure.

"Yes, I will," Kurt said.

It took a few seconds for the words to penetrate Puck's lust-addled brain. Puck stopped, wide-eyed.

"We'll get home and we'll get married," Kurt said. Puck still looked stunned. "It's fine," Kurt said, beginning to worry that he'd taken him too seriously. Unpleasant sobriety was starting to return. "There... there are candles. It's romantic."

Lunging forward, Puck kissed him as his hips set back into motion. "Never losing you again," he said. 

"Never," Kurt agreed. "Never." A foggy wedding scene entered his mind. It was hard to focus; with each step down the aisle, he felt Puck's cock pound into him again, and felt his own orgasm approach. He didn't have vows ready, and so settled on mouthing the basics. "'Til death...."

Puck silenced him with another kiss. No parting, then. Nodding, Kurt curled his hands around Puck's broad back and, in a chorus of soft sighs, let his fiancé carry him over the edge. He spurted wetly between them, then felt Puck erupt inside, warm and close.

They didn't say anything for a long time. As Puck softened inside him, he watched Kurt with a smile. "They're green," he finally said.

"Mmm?"

"When you've just gotten fucked." Puck kissed him on each eyelid. "Your eyes go green. When you're out of the house, they're more blue. Green's for me."

"Green's for you," Kurt agreed, and kissed him on the nose. "I'm for you."

"Yeah," Puck agreed with his characteristic smirk.

"Yeah," Kurt echoed. _'Til death do us part_ floated back into his mind, and he stayed quiet again for no reason he could say. They fell asleep still entwined.

The next morning, he didn't tell Finn about the proposal. Not yet. He wanted it to feel more real and everything needed time to ripen. Instead of babbling happily about the promise he'd been given, Kurt made toast and stirred his coffee and wondered at what point his life had decided to leap ahead at top speed. _You need to do more of that before Puck gets his powers back,_ his mind and pleasantly sore body told him, and Kurt smiled into his drink.

"I’m taking pills now," Finn said, "to make up for all the brain practice I missed out on last night."

Kurt began, "Why did you oh."

Finn held up a small bag. "I bought earplugs. For later."

"You know, you _are_ staying here without paying any rent," Kurt pointed out after a long beat. He wondered if the neighbors had heard, too. Probably.

"And I haven’t complained," Finn said. He clearly wanted to, but he hadn’t.

"So," Kurt began slowly, and grinned, "when we get our powers back full time, then anything I go through, you feel, too?"

"Boy, it’s awesome having a twin," Finn drawled.

"It’s all right," Kurt promised him. "Puck’s great in bed." His muscles groaned agreement.

Finn stared flatly back.

"You know, I thought you would at least laugh a little. I don’t usually make sex jokes, you know. This was an adventure for me." He was in a more wonderful mood than he could remember, ever.

"How would you like it," Finn asked, voice as flat as his eyes, "if you got to feel what it was like when I did it with Rachel?"

Kurt considered that. "But Finn, didn’t you promise Puck that you and Rachel weren’t getting back together? ...Wait, you’re still dating Tina!" He’d forgotten, and clearly, so had Finn.

Like a remote had been clicked, Finn’s face paused on pure horror. "Oh god, I’m still dating Tina. I have to dump Tina and get her back together with Mike because I messed them all up. The Finn in this world sucks!"

That was all the distraction Kurt needed, and he scampered merrily out the door and to his pick-up spot for work. Juniper threw her phone at him when he walked by and risked making a comment about her hair, but that was all right; when it hit the wall, it was nothing more than a plastic prop.


	10. Focus

"Drop me off here," Santana said.

Lucia pulled to the side of the road. Both girls were in their outfits from work. Although Santana liked to change out of her ridiculous diner uniform as soon as the shift was done, she had more pressing matters that day. When Santana had said that she wanted to hurry, Lucia hurried as well. Thoughtful.

"Are you sure?" Lucia asked. "It’s at least a ten minute walk to your place. I could take you there today, if you want...."

"No, I’m good, thanks." Santana threw her purse together. It was a mess across her lap where she'd been arranging her day's tips. Thank god for this girl and her unending willingness to be Santana’s personal chauffeur around Los Angeles. Normally, Santana didn’t like to push her generosity too far; if she asked too much of Lucia on the regular, then there was an excellent chance that she’d finally snap out of whatever daze she was in and start asking Santana for gas money. Today, though, Santana had more important things to worry about. Besides, another week or so and she’d never see Lucia again, anyway.

"Okay," Lucia agreed. "Um, bye?"

"Bye," Santana said, and then made a soft 'oh' and paused with her hand on the door. "Actually, if you want to do me a favor, can you drive back to work and tell Brit where you dropped me off? She’ll know what it’s about."

Lucia’s smile faded a little. Shit; asking her to drive all the way back there had been too much and Lucia was finally going to come to her senses. Well, Santana could cover gas money for the next week or two before they bolted from this world. "I don’t...."

"Never mind, it’s fine." Santana waved it off and hoped for the best. "See you at work tomorrow!" she added with the friendly smile that she’d used to get out of parental punishments as a child.

All bright again, Lucia nodded. "See you tomorrow, Santana."

Santana hopped out without looking back. Thoughts of her perpetually helpful co-worker faded as soon as her feet hit the sidewalk.

She enjoyed efficiency. If there was a problem to be solved, others might dance around the issue and not hurt people’s poor, vulnerable little fee-fees until they found a solution amenable to everyone. Not her. The best way to get everyone on board with a solution was to actually give them one. When things became real, people either dealt with it or they got out of the way.

Not for the first time, Santana thought back to Brittany’s determination to awaken their memories of a world in which everything had been working for the two of them. It shamed her. There was no one in the world more important than Brittany to Santana, and she really had been doing what she thought would work best. And yeah, that plan involved setting Brittany aside and sucking face with Cooper Anderson in front of the paparazzi. It'd all made sense at the time.

That was the occasional downside of going with her own plan, full steam, damn the consequences: sometimes those consequences sucked. She hadn’t realized the utter disdain in which Brittany held Cooper. It matched how Santana felt for him, and Santana was the one who’d actually been forced to slobber all over the man in public in service of her grand scheme. 

In all likelihood, she would still need to get in contact with Cooper like she'd promised. But first, she wanted to try something else. The most important goal was to get her and Brittany back to their perfect life together, where—according to Finn—they might already be engaged. The second most important goal was to save the world. There was someone better than Cooper to help with both of those, and really, didn’t Santana owe it to both Brittany and the entire planet to put off seeing Cooper Anderson in favor of someone else who'd be even better help?

"I don’t want a full reading," Santana said, laying down twenty-five dollars in mixed bills. "You’ve already done the full spectrum deal. I just want some questions answered."

Madame Varinka raised an eyebrow. "And hello to you, too, Miss Congeniality." The world around them faded to black and white, and a third eye blinked sleepily open on the mutant psychic's forehead. Good. Discounted rate or not, she was apparently going for this.

"So, we figured out how to get superpowers and—"

"Yeah," Varinka said with a sudden grin. "You did. This’ll be fun, wow. I want pictures."

Santana continued uncertainly, "And then we turned over our brains for steamcleaning by the stupidest man alive. Which sounds like a terrible idea, but I guess Finn's finally found his sole area of competence in... anything. What do you mean that you want pictures?"

"What do you mean that you’re only paying me half my rate?"

They were going to save the whole world and she couldn't even get a straight answer? Santana scowled. "At least tell me if we’re headed for a lot of hilarious Wile E. Coyote deaths."

"Calm down, the pills aren’t going to hurt you guys. It’ll just be a...." Varinka's hand turned loose circles in the air. "Learning experience for everyone." That wasn’t enough for Santana. Folded arms shouted her displeasure. "You’re headed for some real interesting days," Varinka added sweetly.

Well, that was distressingly vague. "Just tell us how we need to save the world so we can get it over with. I want to be back in New York getting busy in my king-sized bed."

"I don’t know," Varinka said. "Remember? I get glimpses, not a full show of the future. Now all of this, we did go over last time."

"Not buying the ignorance routine. You know things, Miss Cleo."

"What, you think I’d put my own life on the line by not telling you what you need to know to save the world? The world is nice. It has air. It has ground to walk on. I’d rather not try to swim through a hard vacuum or some hell dimension."

"You knew how we got powers and thought it was hilarious," Santana said darkly. "You know everything."

"Not this. Not the specifics. I swear, it’s like someone pulled a blind over that big question in the middle. It’s just... weird."

Fine. They'd do this the hard way. "Does it have to do with World War III?" Santana wondered. That was the obvious contender for the world 'ending' some time soon.

It took Varinka a long time to answer. "...Sort of. Maybe. Sorry. I see what I see." Santana studied her. Varinka smiled guilelessly back until Santana handed her another ten-dollar bill, even though doing so clawed at her like accidentally biting down on tin foil. This woman was impossible. "Oh, wow, my eyes are totally opened," Varinka said. The third eye fluttered in what she probably thought was an adorable manner.

Everyone in this city was for sale.

"I already told you the basics," Varinka said as she tucked the money away. "The seals, the anchor, the chain."

"Right, but what are they?" Santana asked. "This is too big of a haystack to hunt through when we don't even know what the needles look like."

Varinka considered that, _really_ considered it. "The seals are things that shouldn't exist," she said slowly. "The anchor is something that always exists. And the chain will use the anchor. Sorry, that's all I can see. I hear 'seals' in my mind and whoa, it's like my cable went out. Full of static."

Four things that shouldn't exist? Well, they could compare memories here with memories from back home, so that was a start. It would be like one of those games where you looked to see what was different between the two pictures.

Varinka continued, "And here's what's totally new, because you gave me that little tip. See? I can be nice. In the end, people have to believe in themselves, in what they can give to the world, and in each other. Or none of this is gonna work out for you like you want."

Santana stared at her. "Wait, that's it? That's not a psychic prediction, that's a self-help mantra."

Varinka shrugged. "I already told you the basics for saving the world, and told you that this MGH route is going to end up being hilarious. You think I want the world to end with me in it? That part is just for you guys."

"But you didn't tell me anything!"

With a tight little hmph, Varinka said, "Well, I told you that the seals are things that shouldn't exist, and about the anchor, and stuff and stuff and stuff. Count that as your payment, then."

"This is bullshit," Santana said. She made a movement toward Varinka to retrieve her money. The psychic's third eye narrowed and Santana leaned unhappily back.

"I just pulled you into my own pocket prediction dimension and you’re going to try to mug me?" Varinka asked. "Really?"

"No."

"Girl, I am psychic. Do not front."

"Maybe."

"That’s better." Varinka sighed. "Fine. You want _another_ prediction so that you can get your money’s worth?"

Well, it was about time. "Uh, yeah, duh."

"Your whiter shade of pale friend isn’t able to walk straight right about now."

Santana smirks. "Oh, trust me, he never walks straight." Varinka stared at her and Santana sobered. "Wait, does that mean he’s drugged or beat up or something?" Varinka kept staring. Oh no, it was so much worse than that. Puckerman. Hutton. _Ugh._

"And that’s what you get for trying to steal back your money."

"You suck."

"Funny, they didn't bother with that." With a long, slow smirk, she seemed to decide that her vengeance had been sufficiently wrought. "On a more serious note: if we’re talking about what you’re doing for the world," Varinka said, and shoved her money into a pocket that faded from view as soon as it had closed, "and how you’re helping out?

"Yeah?"

"You might want to consider why that girl never asks you for gas money."

The world returned in a rush of noise and color. Varinka's third eye was gone. She looked like any normal street vendor who might be peddling tarot readings or quartz crystals. "What's that supposed to mean?" Santana asked, loud enough to be heard over the crowd.

Varinka made gestures suggesting that she couldn't hear Santana, and then pointed to someone else near her table. The psychic became suddenly hard to focus upon. When Santana blinked hard to clear her fuzzy vision, Varinka and her latest customer were gone into Varinka's pocket dimension. Great.

_So,_ Santana thought in annoyance, and set off on the walk home. Wolf whistles started immediately thanks to her skimpy uniform, and she greeted each one with an upturned middle finger. _What did I just learn?_ One: the seals shouldn't exist. That was actually useful. Two: the chain would pull on the anchor, and presumably that would fix things. Three: something hilarious was going to happen because of the MGH, but it wasn't actually a threat to them. Fine, they could handle a bit of non-dangerous hilarity. Four: they needed to stick together and believe in themselves, or Barney the Big Purple Dinosaur would be very disappointed in all of them. And five: Kurt and Puck were getting it on. She literally could not be less interested, and it also meant that they probably hadn't been doing their own work in fixing all of this.

That wasn't enough information, and left her with only one option. With a deep sigh, Santana dug out her cell phone. "Cooper, it's me. I need your help. It's about the... hero stuff."

After a beat to recognize Santana's voice, Cooper's excitement surged. "Fantastic. I do all my own stunts, if you're showing off your powers somewhere that could be videotaped." Cooper hesitated. "I mean, I assume I can do them safely. It'll be fine! It'll make a great clip."

Biting down on her initial response, Santana said, "No. We're trying to pin down some, uh, threats, and one of those areas is in Ohio, if you can believe it."

"I'm from Ohio!" Cooper said, delighted. "I can answer any questions you have. I'll be able to put this down for credit, right? It really is like I'm a consultant, you know. Consultants get credit."

"Sure, fine. Have you heard of a place called Lima?" She tried it both ways, like Peru and the bean, in the hope that he would recognize one of them.

"Lima?" Cooper repeated, like the bean. "Yes, my family's from right near there. Close enough to stop for gas, far enough away to grow up in a different school district."

"Seriously?" Santana asked. Wow, she was starting to feel a little uncomfortable. It was like there really was some hand sketching out their fates in the sky. She didn't like the idea that, even in some small way, she was attached to Cooper Anderson. 

"Gas was always a little cheaper there," he explained. "It was worth the trip."

"I... fine, I don't care." Looking around, Santana ducked into a small niche and turned toward the wall. It was as much privacy as the crowded street could offer. "Here's the thing. We got some memories back. We used to have powers and someone hid us then in Ohio. We need to figure out what's going on to save the world, and in case something matters there in Lima that we might need to know." She left off the bit about another world, because Cooper's rubber band-powered brain really didn't need to handle that much information all at once. Now that she thought about it, maybe Finn didn't deserve the title of stupidest man alive, after all.

"My parents are probably busy, but my little brother lives there. I'm sure he can look for anything you need to find. He worships me, I'll just tell him it's for my career and he'll beg me to let him help." Cooper hesitated. "So, um, what will I tell him to look for?"

"I don't know," Santana sighed. "Anything related to superpowers or S.H.I.E.L.D."

"A shield?"

"No, S.H.I.E.L.D., it's this big government thing. Like the C.I.A. but with more black leather."

"Sexy. You know, it'd be easier to find something if he knew some specifics."

"No kidding," Santana said. It would be easier for all of them if they knew exactly what they sought, but she couldn't offer any easy answers there. "I guess... don't bother trying to explain it, after all. Just set whoever you can on the trail of anything weird, and let me know what they turn up, all right? And then I promise, you will absolutely get credit in whatever way you want." Cooper said something that she didn't hear, as her thumb was already on the button. Well, great. They didn't have a clear goal, but at least they were making progress in whatever small way they could. Nodding to herself, Santana stepped back out onto the street and walked home. 

"Hey," Brittany said two hours later, when she returned from a closing shift and let herself into Santana's apartment.

"Hey," Santana said. She looked askance at the cat in Brittany's arms. "Don't bring him into the hall. Someone's gonna see him and turn you both in to the landlord."

"The Truman Show gets lonely," Brittany said, and kissed him on his silvery-grey nose. "I know what it feels like to get lonely, so as soon as I get home I always want to have him with me."

So the guilt tripping was starting early, and for no good reason. "I dumped Cooper, remember?"

"I know. It was just a long day at work and I guess I'm in a bad mood. A guy from Colorado kept grabbing my butt and our boss yelled at me when I accidentally dropped a big plate of banana pancakes in his lap."

"Accidentally, huh?" Santana smirked as she started rifling through her tiny kitchen to make them a late dinner.

"That actually was an accident. I only meant to do it when I also knocked over the syrup." As Santana cackled, Brittany continued, "I just feel like I do a lot more work for us than you do. It tires me out sometimes."

Santana shot her a sidelong glance. She, not Brittany, was the one who'd given up relaxing nights at home in the pursuit of fame on Cooper Anderson's arm.

"You know, I've been talking with your mom."

Hands around a pot handle, Santana froze. "You've been talking to my mom? About what?"

"You. Us." Brittany shrugged and grabbed the rice that Santana had sought. "I'm not trying to sound conceited or anything, but I think she super likes me and wants to have me as a daughter-in-law. Because we talk every week after So You Think You Can Dance and she wants me to audition for it, and I send her pictures of The Truman Show."

"You do?" Santana asked, more than a little weirded out. "And wait, why are you still all mopey when we're going to fix everything? We're going to get married _and_ have our own tv show. You can't ask for anything more perfect than that."

Brittany stroked The Truman Show again. "That's the problem, Santana. We're so much more than being famous."

"What's more important than being famous?" Santana asked. "That's going to give us everything we want. I know I screwed up by going after Cooper, but this way we get to be together _and_ I get to buy you that pony." Seriously, what was Brittany's problem? Santana knew that Brittany was far more of an idealist than her, and she loved her for it, but she didn't even understand what perfect vision she was failing to live up to.

"I don't...." Brittany turned away, frustrated. "We got all these memories back of being heroes. And I actually want to make a difference, you know? What if I was doing something important there?"

Santana shrugged. "I guess we won't know until we get back."

"What if you were doing something important?" Brittany asked. "I just... I love you so much. And I see this big amazing person inside of you, but it's like you're embarrassed of Nice Santana. And whenever you let anyone but me get close to you, you freak out and turn into a porcupine and start shooting butt quills at them with your mean, mean words."

"I don't think porcupines can actually shoot things."

It was the wrong thing to say. Brittany had that serious look she sometimes got. "People think I'm stupid," Brittany said baldly.

"Well, those people are stupid," Santana snapped.

"And that's why I love you. Because even when I'd rather talk about my cat maybe being a spy because he's Russian, you just understand that I don't want to say some things can't happen just because they don't make sense right away. You don't ever think I'm stupid for that."

"I think you're amazing, Brittany," Santana said. "I think it's amazing how you can look at the whole gross stupid world and imagine it as a nicer place. I love how you want to make everything better."

"And I love you because I know that you're amazing," Brittany said. "Because I know you can be great. Not with being the rich and famous sort of great, but... remember how I told you that I'd take a tent on the beach, because it's what matters? Yeah, I know you can do all the stuff that matters. We're already great together, but I just want you to be as great a person as you can be."

"I'm already fantastic," Santana said airily. "And I'm going to get that even more fantastic TV show."

"Santana," Brittany said. "Please, okay? I don't want you to think about money, or gold-plated ponies, or being on magazines, or anything."

"But that's everything I want," Santana said with a frown. "You; for everyone to know who I am; to wear outfits that would pay some poor person's rent."

"I don't think it is what you want," Brittany said with a sad smile. "I think all you really care about in that list is me. And whenever I get mad at you, it's because I'm... I'm sad because you're not letting Santana be as amazing as she really is. I don't ever doubt that you love me in a big, achey way that makes you tear up sometimes, because that's how I feel about you. I just don't think you love Santana, instead of the Santana-girl you want to see in all your TMZ pages."

"You sound like my mom," Santana complained as she measured rice into the boiling water.

"She said we both have to look out for you," Brittany said. "I didn't tell her how I found a dinosaur so you'd start focusing on the important things again, like me. But I promised her that I'd make you as Santana-y as you could be, because we both know we're going to be there for you for the rest of your life."

"I talked with Varinka earlier," Santana said after a long, pregnant pause. She filled in Brittany on the new knowledge, as scant as it was, and the girl nodded in satisfaction. "I'm trying to get this fixed. I really am. And apparently, it matters that...." Trailing off, it hit her what Varinka's last words had meant. Now that she was looking for a deeper meaning, all of that helpfulness, all those excited looks, all that chatter in the car made perfect sense. "Apparently, it matters that Lucia from work has a giant killer crush on me and can't bring herself to say that she's hot for a girl."

In a strange flash, she saw Brittany with bright pink streaks in her hair. Santana's frown deepened.

"Your mom would like it if you called tonight," Brittany pointed out. "She loves you a whole bunch. Maybe even more than I do."

"And I love her," Santana said softly. 

Dammit. Varinka's gooey self-help mantra sounded nice right about now.

* * *

"Are we sure about this?" Mike asked as their group approached the cracked sidewalks of Mutant Town.

"Not even a little," Artie said.

The mutant ghetto was officially part of New York City, but it had more in common with the era of the robber barons than modern-day Manhattan. Buildings were as overcrowded and poorly maintained as some ancient tenement. If an emergency happened within its streets, residents were left largely on their own. The official stance was that it was dangerous for any humans to walk inside the area, emergency workers included. The neighborhood had its name for a reason: it was one of the largest congregation points for mutants in the Western Hemisphere. Within a short span of the Lower East Side rested enough raw firepower to level an army.

Any real danger would require the mutants becoming organized, though, and the government gutted any leadership before it started. Just as the city failed to support them with emergency services, it also left them to their own devices for health care, education, and basically anything that required tax dollar funding. Runaway mutants who ended up in Mutant Town were likely to remain as unskilled labor, if they could find a job at all. Unemployment levels were far above the rest of the city. The children of mutants grew up in a neighborhood that wanted to forget they existed. Sadly, that wish often became fact.

It wasn't a great place for a group of kids with human faces to enter.

X-Factor was inside the neighborhood, though. The NYPD had ignored what they had to say about that demon at the coffee shop, but maybe X-Factor wouldn't. What had happened could happen again, and it was only that mutant P.I. firm that seemed to give a damn about the full history of the assaults.

"I'm sure," Quinn said. Her fingers rolled a slightly melted quarter between them. "This powered that thing," she said, showing them the quarter's sloppy runic symbol. "Or it called it to our world or... or something."

"Meaning?" Tina asked. She'd come along on their trip to Mutant Town. Although Artie now wished that he hadn't texted her, what was done was done and she knew about the attacks. She was unhappy about every part of them, from her friends being in danger to what had happened to the mutants. Either they let her be awkward around Mike for a while, or they caused far more awkwardness by saying they only wanted to be around one of them. Taking sides like that never ended well.

"Meaning," Quinn said, and showed them all the coin, "that I bet whoever called that thing could do it again."

"Quinn has a point," Mercedes allowed. "If there's some evil wizard guy calling demons and all he needs is a quarter, then we're probably going to hear about this on the news again."

"Warlock," Artie corrected. When they looked at him, he grinned. "I play a warlock. They summon demons." At their unimpressed looks, he allowed, "Which does tend to attract some weirdos. You know, I think someone from the forums said he could do it in real life just last week. And all of you think I'm a giant nerd and I should stop talking."

"We already knew that you were a giant nerd," Mercedes said. Grinning, she patted his shoulder. "Come on. We've only got a few weeks before school starts, so we'd better get this taken care of now."

"Thanks for inviting me," Quinn said as they, with great trepidation, crossed the boundaries into Mutant Town. Their unmarked faces earned a few glances, but nothing more. Not yet. "I get to have my big talk with everyone about school in a few days. I just... I wanted to go do something on my own, first."

"Do they know you're in Mutant Town?" Tina asked. She smiled at Quinn's look. "Okay, dumb question."

"Do anyone's parents know?" Artie asked. His certainly didn't. Granted, his parents spent half their time flying around the country to service the highest of the high-tech government facilities. They called themselves the Geek Squad. He preferred to think of them as Scotty. 

"Mine do," Tina said, the only one not to shake her head. "But they were just happy that I was actually spending time with friends."

"Wow," Artie said, trying not to gawk but unable to stop. A mutant that was easily over a thousand pounds had just shuffled across the street. She—he thought it was a she—was a ten-foot rock behemoth, and her face was closer to an Easter Island statue than anything he'd call human. She had a grocery bag in hand, but no clothes on. What would fit that body?

"I wonder what sort of security deposit she had to put down for an apartment," Quinn said.

"Or how she went shopping just now," Artie said, and slapped one wheel on his chair. "Trust me, I know this city has a lot of narrow doors."

"Maybe we could not stare at the mutant lady," Tina murmured.

"This is probably where she figures she can get away from that," Mike agreed, and looked instantly uncertain when he agreed with Tina.

For a second Artie thought that the two might begin to talk, but instead they set off walking again. With a silent sigh, he followed. Mercedes' directions led them through the streets and for most of their journey to X-Factor's headquarters it was smooth going, with only a few detours needed for him around unpatched cracks.

"You flatscans?" a voice asked when they were a block away.

Mercedes turned. "Excuse me?"

"Are you flatscans?" asked a deep voice, very deliberately. Artie swung around and saw the person asking: an eight-foot tall mutant with blue skin tiger-striped in black. A thick tail covered in the same short velvet as his face and hands lashed behind him.

"I'm sorry," Quinn began, "I don't...."

"Flatscans," repeated the woman at his side. Her face was covered in eyes, except for her nostrils and mouth. Most, blessedly, had their lids shut. "People without powers."

"Normal humans," sneered the tiger-striped man. Both words came out like curses. "A group of pink faces all walking together screams 'sightseers.'"

"My face isn't pink," Mercedes mumbled, but it only riled them further.

"We're not sightseers," Mike said, at the same time as Tina assured the man, "I really like your tail."

"You like my tail?" asked the tiger-striped man. He reached behind him, grabbed it, and shook it at her. "You like it? You like it getting stepped on whenever I try to ride the subway? Oh wait," he snarled, showing his fangs, "I can't ride the subway. Because they always call the security people when I go into a station. They say I'm too big."

"Try 'too blue,'" smirked the eye-covered woman. "But it's really great that he has your approval. Do I?" she asked, and her eyes all flew open. 

The five of them recoiled. The woman's mouth tightened in fierce triumph; the man's rage intensified. "Get out of our home," he said. "Get out. Get out!"

"Calm down, Wilfred," said another voice behind them. Artie looked over his shoulder and saw, to his surprise, a face that he recognized: the leader of X-Factor Investigations. Maddox or Madrox, he wanted to say. "It's a public sidewalk."

"They have the whole rest of the city," bit off the eyeball woman.

"We wanted to talk to you," Artie blurted out. "X-Factor. About the creepy demon guy who was killing mutants."

The tiger man and eyeball woman went silent and waited for a reaction. The brunet man nodded. "Apparently, you recognize me. I'm Jamie Madrox, and yeah, we've been tracking that thing."

"We killed it," Quinn said. "Mercedes and I. It attacked a coffeehouse we were in, and Mercedes hit it and I yanked this off its neck." She showed them the quarter, then tucked it back in her purse.

"But the police didn't really care," Mike added.

"So we came to talk to you guys," Tina finished.

Jamie quirked his eyebrow at the two angry mutants, and with a huff they turned and stomped in the other direction. "I guess they're convinced that you're not with the paparazzi," he said wryly. "Don't worry, when Wilfred and Tanya get in moods, they're like that to everyone. Come on, the office is this way."

Artie followed his lead. "Do they 'get in moods' very often?" he asked, trying to sound light.

Jamie shrugged. Although he looked human, he was a mutant, and famously one. X-Factor was the most prominent organization within Mutant Town, and its leader didn't hesitate to associate himself with it. He could create duplicates of himself to assist with fighting or work, which definitely had to be a better power than having a skull full of eyeballs. "Eh, the guy has a temper. But he also lost his last job because a customer didn't like looking at him, so, you know... he's kind of got a right to be mad."

"Oh," Artie said.

"You're human?" Jamie asked as he held the door open for them. The office was nicer than one might expect from the street outside, although far from luxurious. 

"Yeah," Tina said. "Sorry. I was just trying to be nice to, um, Wilfred. I really wasn't trying to stare at his tail. I know better than that, I was the one telling people not to stare when we got here... I just got nervous." Her voice collapsed. "Sorry. Again."

As Jamie told her not to worry about it, Artie rolled further into the office and inspected the people inside. The employees in the office looked just as human as Jamie, though he knew none of them were. Furthest back were two pale redheaded women chatting over coffee. They glanced at the newcomers, added an appreciative survey of Mike's arms in his tank top, and returned to their conversation. A stunning dusky woman looked up from the newspaper she was attacking with a highlighter. She also glanced over Mike before returning to her work. Finally, an artfully disheveled Latino man, perfect stubble and tousled hair and all, looked away from his computer long enough to assess the group. Even he trailed his gaze over Mike's body, and lingered longer than any of the women had.

_Well, that certainly put me in my place,_ Artie thought ruefully as he followed Jamie to a small meeting area. Of course Mike hadn't even noticed that he'd held the attention of perfectly sculpted heroes, both male and female. The only thing keeping Mike Chang the handsome, intelligent athlete from being annoying was how relentlessly humble he was. 

"So," Jamie said as he took a seat, "you said you killed that thing? Because I'm gonna be honest with you, it's hard to believe that a bunch of kids with no powers managed that when we couldn't." He nodded to the far end of the room, where the redheaded women were chatting. "Some old friends even stopped by because they were worried about mutant deaths. We've got some firepower, but that thing still ducked us every time."

"It collapsed in on itself when I yanked this loose," Quinn said, and showed him the melted coin.

Jamie studied it with a frown. "This is a quarter."

"I know."

"Like, a normal quarter that I buy Cokes with."

"Yes, I know," Quinn said.

"And what's this funny symbol? It's like someone went after this thing with a soldering iron."

"The police cared that it had been kidnapping girls from around the NYU campus," Mercedes cut in. "And they cared that it broke into a game and comics shop and killed the owner. But...." She didn't want to finish. She didn't need to.

"But the cops didn't want to listen to how it tied into all of the deaths here," supplied the Latino man. "I'm Julio. You can call me Rictor, like the scale."

"Like the scale?" Mike repeated, and grinned when the ground shook below their table in an extremely localized earthquake. "Got it."

"It's nice that you care," said the dusky woman, "but I don't see how this does us any good."

"That's Monet," supplied Jamie, "and she's always a bright-eyed optimist. But seriously, kids, what drove you to come out here? Because we've already established that this isn't really your neighborhood."

"We've been trying to do our own investigation," Artie said. "Just... just because." Summer was long and boring inside his room, but there was no good way to say that boredom was his motivation.

"I felt bad that no one was paying attention to the mutants," Mike said. Bless him for it.

"I didn't want to have anyone else get hurt," Mercedes said.

"I wanted to get out of Staten Island and do something important," Quinn said.

"I just found out about this yesterday," Tina admitted. "But it's really wrong, and we want to fix it."

"What do you think we can do?" Jamie asked seriously. 

"I don't know," Artie said. "You guys have been doing this for longer than we have. I guess I was hoping you'd have some ideas."

At Jamie's nod, Rictor and Monet joined them at the small conference table. It was a tight fit. "Tell us what you saw," Jamie suggested. "Speculate. Expand. Grab for any wild theories, because hey, maybe one of them will be right." The trio of investigators nodded along as Mercedes and Quinn gave their first-hand account of the attack. They seemed especially intrigued at Mercedes' detail-laden description of the creature's appearance, from scent to sound to sight. "If you had to guess what was happening," Jamie suggested when they trailed off, "what would you say?"

The group was quiet for a long beat. The demonic appearance, the comics store, the attacks on mutants, the girls being kidnapped. It all fit together into a certain sort of sense, but the answer was hanging just out of reach. _Damn,_ Artie thought. _My summer plans aren't really working out very well if I can't even finish my first mystery. Maybe I should have just been playing Warcraft all this time, after all._ Yeah, he'd just go back on the warlock forums, talk about raid strategies, and—

"Wheelchair Boy just had a lightbulb moment," Monet commented as Artie sat up straight.

"Of course," Artie said, stunned. It was so obvious. How could he have missed it before?

Those forums were a gathering place for some perfectly normal people who enjoyed playing games, but also socially-maladjusted recluses who always had max-level characters two days after new content opened. Their lives rose and fell by adjustments to their characters' powers. These were the sort of players who had a succubus for their character's favorite summoned demon and who saw nothing wrong with the idea of chainmail bikinis. If Artie hadn't met strong women through his school, he was a little afraid that he might have ended up like them. "It's some nerd who figured out how to summon demons," Artie said. "Look at that bargain-basement summoning rune. He had his pet go after a _game and comics store_ , come on. And then he started kidnapping super hot college girls."

"I think that was a compliment buried in there," Quinn said dryly.

This was exactly the sort of thing the scum of those forum-goers would pull. Some of them already talked about wishing their in-game succubus was real, and criticized real women for not living up to that disturbing ideal. It might not be his particular brand of geekery, but it was definitely along that line. "You're looking for some nerd," Artie said confidently. "Kinda obsessive, no sense of boundaries."

"Like you?" Monet supplied.

"I... no."

Mike jumped in. "If he called one of those things, he could probably call another one. Right, guys? We thought of that earlier?"

"Yep. If all he needs to do is burn a rune on a quarter," Mercedes said grimly, "then yeah, he might call another demon by the end of the day."

"That all makes sense," said Rictor thoughtfully, "but then... why was this thing patrolling Mutant Town before it raided a comics shop and started kidnapping girls?"

Artie frowned. He didn't have an answer for that. Looking around, nor did any of his friends.

Monet spoke up. "If this is someone who kidnaps women for his own pleasure, then he's obviously viewing people as little more than toys. He probably wanted to test his new pet out."

Nodding, Jamie finished, "And testing it out in Mutant Town assured that the cops wouldn't get involved until he'd gotten the hang of using this thing. It makes sense. I buy it."

"I buy it, too," said Rictor. "I just don't know what we're supposed to do with this profile, in terms of stopping more killings."

"What school do you go to?" Monet asked Quinn. 

"NYU. I mean... I'm going to go there. I hope," she muttered.

Monet nodded. "Okay. A student at NYU, total comics and game nerd, who doesn't have a girlfriend who picked him by choice and probably doesn't have any friends."

"Uh, I don't actually think that narrows things down," Tina said.

"It narrows it down from twenty million people in the metro area," Rictor said with a smile. "I guess we at least have that much."

Jamie added, "And now we know to rip the rune off a second demon to stop it. You probably saved some lives, there." The five teens smiled at each other, and the adults smiled at them. "We never noticed that quarter hanging off it," he admitted.

"I didn't until it was practically right on top of me," Quinn said. "And that close, it was like a cloak had moved apart. It's not surprising that you couldn't see it, don't worry."

The X-Factor members chuckled at her support. They gathered their numbers, shared all their business cards, and told them to keep in touch with any further information. "Show someone my card if you get any more trouble getting out of Mutant Town," Jamie said. "And kids... thanks. Most people try to forget about the people here."

"Most people try to forget about people in wheelchairs," Artie said with a shrug. That perspective was a better answer to give than boredom, and he was surprised to realize that he meant it. In some weird way, he felt an affinity with these mutants, when he looked at all of them through the lens of being forgotten by society at large. "Someone needs to look out for everyone, right?"

"People definitely try to forget about what some people go through," Mercedes agreed. She shared a knowing look with Tina, then Mike. When Quinn looked at her shoes, Mercedes added, "And it's stupid how people get shoved into a box of who they're allowed to be. So yeah, we just wanted to do what's right." Quinn smiled.

"We could use more people like you in the world," Rictor said. His expression was on the wry side, but Artie decided that he'd taken everything they'd said with the best of intentions. "Thanks again." 

"That felt great," Mercedes said when they'd made their way outside. "I really feel like we did some good today, guys. Now, let's find some air conditioning, because it's the beginning of August and I am in long sleeves." Her shirt was light, but still, those sleeves to cover her bandages couldn't be comfortable.

Everyone started smiling at each other, although Mike and Tina looked immediately away as soon as their eyes met. Dammit. They'd been doing so well with something else to focus upon. Artie didn't really care if Tina and Finn ended up getting married, but he just wanted Tina and Mike to make up in the meantime. So long as his friends were fighting, the potential existed for nasty grudge-laden factions. Puck being caught in the middle of Finn and Rachel had been a cautionary tale for everyone. No one wanted to repeat it with Mike and Tina.

"Do we want to do something together?" Mercedes asked carefully. Artie's caution was clearly shared.

"I guess we could," Mike said, ever unwilling to rock the boat.

"That sounds nice," Tina lied.

A shrill ringtone made everyone sag in relief. Perhaps someone was calling to break up their little party without any resentment. "It's Brittany," Quinn said as she checked the screen. She got a very odd expression as she listened to her friend. "A psychic. With three eyes. Sure, okay." Her amused smile fell away. "Yeah, I'll tell them. I promise, I'm with everyone who's still in New York. I'll tell them right now. And say hi to everyone for me. Thanks." She hung up. "That was Brittany," she said slowly.

"Uh huh," Tina said. "We got that much from eavesdropping on you."

"How's La La Land?" Mercedes asked.

"Weirder than you might think. Puck ran into a dinosaur or something, and now he and Kurt are going out and all of them have fake superpowers. A psychic on a beach told them all that they have to save the world, too."

"At least no one's joined Scientology," Artie said after a beat. "They haven't, have they?"

"And Finn gave them back memories of another world where we _all_ grew up with real superpowers," Quinn continued. "Because Finn has telepathy now." When everyone started smirking, especially Mike, Quinn nodded. "I know. It all sounds beyond crazy."

"So, she just called to catch up?" Mercedes asked.

"No." Quinn studied her phone. "The psychic said that we need to come out to L.A., too. Because all of us are going to save the world. All of us are...." Her manicured thumbnail traced a pattern over the black screen. "Important."

"Wait," Artie said. "It was _Brittany_ who called and told you all of this, right?" At Quinn's nod, he looked knowingly at the others. "All is explained."

"He's right," Tina said. "You can't trust Brittany for anything harder than programming your DVR, and she'll still probably screw it up and record the entire series of Whitney."

"What if I want to watch Whitney?" Artie asked.

"No one wants to watch Whitney," Tina said, and they both laughed. Although it seemed like he hated himself a little for doing so, Mike laughed, too.

After hesitating with her thumb above the phone, Quinn clicked it. "Hi, Santana, it's me. Quinn. Brittany just called, and she had some really crazy stuff that she talked about...." A minute later, she repeated the conversation with Finn, who verified Brittany's story and also suggested that she not call Kurt and Puck right then. "I think she was telling the truth," Quinn concluded with a long, searching look at her phone. "Some psychic really told them that all of us need to go to Los Angeles and save the world."

"Which is crazy," Artie pointed out.

"It is," Quinn said with the voice of the girl who'd accepted a proposal at eighteen, just like her parents wanted, and would be pregnant by twenty, just like her parents wanted. A girl who sounded nothing like those parents' daughter shoved her phone into her purse and said, "Let's go buy tickets."

* * *

"Order, order," rang out a voice through wood-paneled halls. The sharp crack of a gavel followed. During the school year, other students would complain about the noise. The Warblers had gathered early to plan the year to come, though, and no one was there to mind. Such an early meeting was unusual, but drama over the past year had necessitated it.

"Order," said Sebastian Smythe one last time, smugly. He sat in the center chair like it had been designed for him.

The rank and file of the choir quieted and took their seats. From his spot on a leather couch, up against one end where he could lean into the armrest instead of a person, Blaine Anderson looked at him balefully.

During Blaine's junior year, Sebastian had seemed like a grand new addition to Dalton. Out and beyond proud, with a face and body made for Abercrombie catalogs, he was the sort of boyfriend that Blaine had been happy to take home. Sebastian's parents were wealthy and his father was powerful. He could discuss wine pairings and which airlines had the best first class sections. With every word he was a whirlwind dreamboat of a potential son-in-law, and even Blaine's sometimes reserved parents had been charmed by him.

In retrospect, all of that was because Sebastian was excellent at charming people when he wanted something from them. 

"Nationals," Sebastian said proudly. "We're headed back there this year. And this time, we're not going to lose to Kenan Thompson in a lace front." The once-enlightened Warblers grinned, happy to follow his lead.

Blaine wanted a serious boyfriend? Sebastian could play a serious boyfriend, right up to the time when he had Blaine madly in love and they had their first time in a Chicago hotel room with a skyline galaxy outside their window. They lost that competition in Chicago the next day. Although there was no shame in losing to a juggernaut like Vocal Adrenaline, with a director who'd taken a national championship for five out of the nine years he'd been in charge of the choir, it had suddenly been all on the shoulders of their lead singer. When Sebastian dumped Blaine and everyone discussed whether he was _emotionally stable_ enough to lead them the next year, it became obvious that whispers had been going on his back, started by the boy who'd gotten bored with his conquest and never really been in love like Blaine had.

Blaine had bared his heart and Sebastian had only ever unzipped. The emotional shockwaves left him reeling, and by the time he pulled himself out of his depression, the semester was over and he'd been voted out for the next year. Sebastian might have cared about him at one point, and he could genuinely believe that he'd been attracted to Blaine instead of just playing an extremely long game for power, but when Sebastian was ready to move on, he rolled forward on tank treads and left only destruction behind.

And, if Blaine were to complain about any of it, it would just go to show how unstable he still was.

_Maybe I won't even stay in this year,_ he thought grumpily while Sebastian plotted their course. _See how they like that. They'll... still just have Sebastian sing lead, or find someone new, but either way it won't be me._ Saddened anew by memories of a ruined first time on a hotel bed, Blaine slumped further and watched Sebastian's ego swell to fill the meeting room. Some people had an absolutely perfect understanding of how far their charms would take them and no concern for others in the process.

The session passed in a haze of resentment over Sebastian's actions, Sebastian's smiles, and Sebastian's ego. All too soon the meeting was over and Blaine had no idea what had been agreed upon. He supposed it didn't matter, anyway. No one would be coming to him to implement it. They'd just move him into position and give him his orders, while Sebastian filled the role into which he'd schemed. 

It was exactly the wrong time for his brother to call.

"Cooper?" Blaine said in shock and dismay as he saw the name on his phone screen. It had to be a mistake. Outside of holidays (Thanksgiving or Christmas, never both) he hadn't seen his brother for years. They didn't talk between the holidays, which suited him just fine. (They didn't really talk during his one-day visits, either.) Cooper had fled Ohio for greener pastures at light speed. Unfortunately, Blaine saw as he looked at the number, that was the area code for those pastures, not anywhere local. It really was Cooper, and so with a grimace, he answered. "Hey."

"Hey, little brother! What've you been up to in Ohio?"

Blaine glanced over his shoulder at the now-empty meeting room. "Oh, you know, just having everything I care about taken away from me."

"Great! Listen: I need you to do me a favor."

Without hesitating, Blaine hung up. His phone rang again and he silenced it. A text soon followed. _I think you hung up by accident, let me try again._

Oh, for the love of all that was holy. Blaine hit redial like he was stabbing the screen and nearly snarled, "What do you want?"

Like Blaine hadn't just sounded ready to rip off his skin over the phone, Cooper blithely continued, "I've been seeing this girl. Really hot. Amazing hair. I asked her what products she used, and you know how particular I am with mine, so that's really an endorsement."

"Fascinating."

"She's actually a lesbian."

"I bet that caused some trouble," Blaine drawled as he began walking to his car.

"Oh, no, it was fantastic. She just needed a beard while she was trying to establish herself in Hollywood. I, of course, am incredibly enlightened on GBLT issues—"

"GLBT. GBLT would be a sandwich."

"Thanks to my baby brother," Cooper continued like Blaine hadn't spoken. "So I was glad to help. We've called an end to it and it sounds like she's going to go public with her girlfriend. Which is nice. They're a very photogenic couple."

"Congratulations," Blaine said. "You're a real social crusader." Sebastian smirked at him from the edge of the parking lot as he drove off, and Blaine's glare tracked him down the tree-lined entrance to Dalton and onto the road beyond. His bad mood worsened. Was this really what he had to look forward to for his entire senior year? 

"I do try," Cooper said sincerely. "Anyway, Santana and her friends all have superpowers and are trying to save the world, and apparently someone used to hide them in Ohio and wiped their memories in the process. They need you to look around Lima for any clues about what they need to save Earth, since they don't know anyone else living in the area."

Right.

Blaine pinched the bridge of his nose. "Cooper, was this Santana by any chance a surrealist performance artist?"

He paused. "No, I think she was trying to break into acting."

"Mmmhmm. And what exactly did you promise them that I'd be looking for?" His car was warm after sitting in the summer sun, so he turned on the engine and let the air conditioning roar. Music turned on, too. He let it play. If he missed out on some of Cooper's wisdom, well, it would probably be for the best.

"Everything, I suppose." After a beat, Cooper said, "I don't think you really understand. Superheroes are incredibly hot right now. If I can get an in with a team on the rise, my career's set for life. Which will also be of huge benefit to you, because I'm granting you full license to use my name and image!"

Blaine slumped across his steering wheel, careful not to set off the horn. Oh, right. This was what it felt like to be exhausted by his brother's mere existence. He'd almost forgotten after Cooper had left Ohio on all but a visitor basis. "You're so generous. You said Lima? I know it's close, but I still hardly know anything about Lima. No one goes there on purpose. You just go there—"

"Because they have cheaper gas," Cooper finished with him.

Huh. Cooper remembered that bit from Ohio, years ago. Blaine needed a word that combined surprising, uplifting, and annoying.

"There's no way for me to find anything if I don't know the town," Blaine continued, feeling better now that he was in air conditioning with his music, rather than surrounded by a bunch of traitors in blazers. "And I don't know what I'm looking for, and I don't know who you were even talking to. What would they be interested in, or hoping to find? I have no idea."

"Fair enough," Cooper said. 

Good. This would be an end to the day's stupidity, then.

"I'll get all their contact info and send it to you, so you can talk to them yourself."

"Wait, now I'm talking to a bunch of strangers who think they have superpowers?" Blaine asked in disbelief. How did Cooper always get his way between the two of them? _How?_

"I'll call Santana, you should get some texts in a few minutes. Thanks again, baby brother! You're a real lifesaver. Love you," Cooper said with all the believability of a Hollywood party, and hung up.

Groaning, Blaine pulled out of the parking lot and began the drive home. His phone buzzed again by the time he was halfway there. He glanced at it during a train crossing and saw that the Santana woman had texted him herself. Out of some morbid sense of curiosity, he read what this stranger had sent: the full names and contact information for her and four of her friends, all in Los Angeles: Santana Lopez, Brittany Pierce, Noah Puckerman, and Kurt and Finn Hutton.

With a deep sigh, Blaine drove forward when the train chugged past and the flashing traffic arms lifted clear of the road. 

He was going to end up talking to them. There was just no way around it.

Perfect.


	11. The Trigger

Brittany Pierce was on a mission.

She had a lot of mission files in her head. Some of them were for the far-off distant future, when she knew that The Truman Show’s great-grandkitten would be the star performer in her traveling animal circus, among the dozens of cats that she had rescued from animal shelters. (Also, the cats would wear capes.) Some of them were for sooner than that, when she thought about the two-point-three children that she and Santana would have. (She wasn’t sure how people had a fraction of a child, but she thought that it might be like a hotel timeshare. Maybe she should talk to Puck and Kurt, since they seemed to be the only other functional couple that she knew.)

Right then, she was focused on getting this stupid superhero stuff out of the way, so that she and Santana could save the world however it needed to be saved. Santana was trying to do her part, even though it was harder for her, and Brittany wasn't about to start slacking just because Santana was trying to find her way to being the best Santana that she could be. Then, with the world saved, they could get married. Bam.

To save the world, first they needed to find someone who wanted to destroy it. Right?

"Hi!" she shouted as the La Brea Tar Pits boiled over, churned by some invisible force that had to be that submarine. The Runaways from the rooms below either didn’t see her or ignored her, and so Brittany cupped her hands around her mouth. _"Hi!"_

When that didn’t work, she willed sparklers into existence and leapt into the air with the flight she'd discovered she had. They scrawled "Hi!" across the night sky and finally she got her answer. Grinning, she descended back to earth as they did.

"Hey, blonde girl," said Nico as the kids stepped out of the Leapfrog submarine and eyed her. "Way to totally blow our cover."

"Yeah, so we all got our superpowers and we were wondering how to find bad guys to fight?" Brittany shrugged hugely. "Because in New York, all the big time bad guys come to you, but around here it’s way harder to track down someone who’s going to blow up the city."

"We like it that way," Gert said.

"So anyway," Brittany said, ignoring her, "do you guys know anyone who could end the world if they wanted to?"

"Anyone with nuclear launch codes?" Gert asked dryly. "With a war ready to pop, one of them going off would do it."

Brittany shot her a dirty look. "Please don’t answer me any more, your answers are not fun."

"Well," began Molly, the youngest girl of the group, "there’s Apocalypse, who’s a big evil mutant who tries to kill everyone."

Apocalypse? That was a promising name.

"Um," Molly continued, scrunching up her face, "Doctor Doom is always gross and everyone hates him."

Doctor _Doom?_ Perfect! All of these names definitely sounded like people they needed to stop.

"And I think Jean Grey is dangerous when she’s all Phoenix-y," Molly said. Jean Grey wasn’t a very fun name, Brittany thought with a frown. Couldn’t she be Jean Murderdeathkill or something?

Seeing Brittany’s disappointed look, Victor explained, "She keeps coming back from the dead, and sometimes she’s mad about it, and you know...."

"Sometimes people just need to stay dead," Nico drawled.

"If you just want to help with crime, look at police maps of the city," Karolina suggested. Unfortunately, Santana had already told her all about how they didn’t need to sweep in and handle everyday problems for those people, so that wouldn’t work. Superpowered solutions should look for superpowered challenges. "Keep an eye on any big labs or drug houses. Weird stuff comes out of all of them."

Chase scratched his head. "I guess you could try to catch people leaving at the airport or docks, but then it’d probably be too late."

Nico considered that. "D’ya think they’d fly out of LAX or Ontario?"

"Oh, good call. Maybe Ontario, to throw people off?"

Wow, now they had to keep an eye on Canada? From California? Things were getting really complicated. "Thanks," Brittany said uncertainly. "That was, um, a big help."

Gert cocked a finger gun at her, and her dinosaur grinned. "Just remember. Don’t let any nukes go off. Boom."

"I’ll remember that," Brittany said dryly, and decided that no, she did not like this girl. The Runaways crowded back into their Leapfrog, disappeared, and flew off to fight the crime that they wouldn’t help Brittany find. With a put-upon sign, she leapt back into the sky, delighting in the feeling of the open air around her, and twisted toward the nearest tall building.

Brittany popped another MGH pill and considered the city before her. As she willed avocados into being, tried to juggle them, and let them vanish before they hit someone a hundred feet below, it hit her that it might be a little on the foolish side to actively wish for something to go wrong in the Los Angeles metropolitan area.

Still, she wanted to move things along, so that she and Santana could hook back up and get married and be famous. She didn’t care about being famous so much, but it seemed important for Santana, and so Brittany was willing to work with that.

So she wished.

Just a little.

* * *

Mercedes, Tina, Artie, and Mike had always been a little short on friends relative to what their doting parents thought they should have. When they very reasonably suggested going out to visit their friends in Los Angeles for one last summer hurrah, it was only natural that their families agreed. Santana and Brittany's studio apartments and waitressing jobs sounded too youthful to assuage any fears, and Puck's dock work was similarly untrustworthy, but Kurt had a show biz _career._ Or so they'd said, at least. Thanks to that Hollywood job, they were able to lie their way into making it sound like they were going out to Los Angeles to be hosted in Bel Air and driven around in limousines. They all knew that his apartment was in a shady part of town and that he was on a very low rung, but their parents didn't need to hear that. Hollywood really was magic.

Tina looked across the aisle of the plane at where Quinn sat next to a stranger, staring silently out the window at the clouds below. From what little she'd shared, Quinn hadn't been sent off with a smile like the rest of them, but a trade. If she got to go visit her friends in Los Angeles, she would agree to take at least one semester off from her NYU plans. "Like I'll stick to that," Quinn said airily when she'd told Artie to add her to their group ticket purchase, but Tina wasn't so sure. Quinn's father was paying her tuition. If he didn't want her to go and thought they had an agreement, Tina didn't see any way that she could swing those bills on her own.

Hopefully, this wild notion they were following would be worth it. Brittany, Santana, and Finn had all just sounded so absolutely certain about what they were facing. Finn hadn't even played the boyfriend card when Tina had talked to him, to pressure her into coming; in fact, he'd avoided any romantic overtures whatsoever. With how he'd openly debated whether to grab her boob or ass for their very last kiss before he left New York, it was quite a change between them. It made her a little worried that she was crossing time zones just to get dumped, but at least she'd get to see Kurt. It was rough knowing that she'd soon lose Mercedes to Texas; saying goodbye to Kurt at the start of the summer had been hard enough. 

"What do you think will happen?" Tina asked Mercedes, seated next to her. Their last-minute itinerary had routed them down through Florida. The extra hours were unfortunate, but on the second leg they were on a smaller plane with only two seats on each side of the aisle. That was nice. "What they were talking about...."

"Is ridiculous. I know." Mercedes checked the progress of the drink cart. "But whenever I think it sounds too ridiculous, I just remember that I hit a shadow demon over the head with a pot of coffee."

"Do you think we could really save the world?" Tina asked, low so the people in the crowded seats around them wouldn't listen in.

Mercedes shrugged. "I guess it depends on what the problem is. If it's a comet hitting, then no, I'm not up for any Deep Impact stuff."

"No, do you think _we_ could really save the world?" Tina asked. "Us? Why would anyone want us for anything? We're not special at all."

"Speak for yourself," Mercedes said, smirking. "I happen to be fabulous with a capital f-a-b. Coke Zero, please," she said to the flight attendant. Tina almost ordered coffee, but chose apple juice just as the words were coming out. Bandages still dotted Mercedes' arms. "So," Mercedes said after both girls had sipped most of their drinks, and Mercedes had crunched away one ice shard. "How're you going to manage it? Being around Mike and Finn again?"

Tina looked wistfully at the space between the seats. Several rows up she thought she could see a shock of black hair that might be Mike's. In this mostly-full flight, Artie had had only been able to find two seats together out of the five. Artie himself was right behind the galley, but Mike was close enough to see. Maybe. "I don't know. I mean... I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Is that why you've been ducking Mike all summer, even though no one could make you smile bigger when the two of you were going out?"

"We weren't going out," Tina said. "That was the problem."

"Then this has been a whole lot of drama over two people who were never an item, I've gotta tell you." Mercedes studied her. "Do you miss him?"

"Yeah."

Without replying, Mercedes reached for the SkyMall catalog and began flipping idly through. The conversation's embers flickered out and Tina joined Quinn in studying the clouds. "Be right back, the bathroom light's off," Mercedes said after a few long minutes of studying overpriced novelty items, and pushed herself out of the awkward seat. Tina, her interest piqued, reached for her own catalog and began looking at what United thought she couldn't possibly live without.

When a person sat next to her, Tina nearly leapt into the wall when her peripheral vision showed her arms that definitely did not belong to Mercedes. Seeing that it wasn’t a stranger just made things worse. "Hey," Mike said, dripping awkwardness. "Mercedes said she wanted to look out the window, and asked if I'd trade."

"Oh." Quinn would have been an simpler window seat trade to make, and from the way Mike glanced at her they both clearly knew it. Mercedes had a point to prove, though, and they both also knew that it would be easier in the long run to at least give it a go. "So you don't mind the aisle?" Tina asked, and hated herself for it. _Yes, first thing, ask the boy who everyone thinks you cheated on whether he likes the aisle seat. You drip remorse._

"I have long legs." Mike shrugged. "It's easier to stretch out in the aisle seat. At least, when the drink cart's not coming through."

"That makes sense."

"Yeah." Fingers tapped a nervous rhythm on the armrest. "Finn has even longer legs."

There it was. Tina swallowed. "Yes, I guess he does."

"You had to crane your neck up pretty high to kiss me, when you weren't in big heels. You probably get a neck cramp kissing him." Something in Mike's voice suggested that he wouldn't be terribly upset if she was walking around with a sore neck right now. It was about as vindictive as the sweet boy had ever sounded. To most people, he would sound like an angry puppy’s growls. But knowing him and how even-tempered he was, she knew he had to be hurting.

"I'm sorry. I really am."

Mike took a deep breath. "You've never really apologized before."

"I told myself that I hadn't done anything wrong." Tina looked down at where her hands twisted a nervous dance. "We never said if we were going out or not. We were just spending time together."

"What do you think 'going out' is?" Mike asked. "It's not like we need to file corporate papers or something, you know?"

"You never asked me on a date," Tina said, pleading. "And I'm not saying that you did anything wrong there. I promise, I'm not. You're not obligated to want to date me. But Finn... he told me he did."

"And of course you'd pick him," Mike muttered.

"Finn asked me out on a date. In those words. He asked me to be his girlfriend. In those words." Memories of Finn and Rachel, alpha couple by sheer willpower, flooded Tina's mind. Finn and Rachel had always let everyone know that they were the leaders of their little group. They always worked together on projects; Rachel's longtime friendship with Kurt was less important than school project time that could double as makeout time. Rachel suggested elections for their school of eleven students because it would look good on her transcript. They gave her the make-believe presidency to calm her down and she promptly named Finn Hutton as her First Gentleman and Vice President. There was even an inauguration. She wore a Jackie O. hat and sang an Evita medley.

Yes, the two of them had been obnoxious, and caught up in fighting as much as romance. But they were _big_ , larger than life, the sort of people who skimmed along the surface of living and never had anything reach up from the deep to hold them down. Tina Cohen-Chang had never felt larger than life. She liked who she was (mostly), and she had opinions that she thought made sense, but it never felt like she had a voice anyone cared to hear. Rachel Berry opened her mouth and she was standing on stage with perfect acoustics. Tina screamed and it sounded like a noise through a pillow.

And then Finn wanted her. It wasn't that she had a _boyfriend_ as a prize, it was that someone wanted her for her and had no qualms about shouting that out loud. She had friends in Kurt and Mercedes, but neither had put her absolutely first; certainly not Kurt with his whole group on the Upper West Side, and not even Mercedes, who had chosen Kurt over Tina more than once. Mike's questions had always been soft and uncertain, and she wondered if he sounded so uncertain when he was asking Puck or Finn to go do their... football... thing in the park. With Finn, though, someone shouted that he wanted to be with her, and it had to be as loud as Rachel Berry had ever managed on her favorite solos. 

His hands were always on her, whether on a shoulder or on her waist or playing with her hair. He described Tina to everyone he met as 'my girlfriend' and showered her with presents. They weren't _good_ presents; Finn had terrible taste. But she was absolutely, without question, first to him. She'd never been someone's best friend. She could at least be a girlfriend, right?

"He asked you to be his girlfriend," Mike repeated. "Well, I guess you had to say yes."

Oh, no. She was sorry, but she was not about to be guilt tripped. Tina was staying in control of the emotions of this conversation. "Do you know how long I have sat in the background and waited for someone to notice me? Believe in me more than anyone else? I'm a good friend, but someone else is always a _best_ friend. I spend an hour getting ready in the morning and you still sound distracted asking me to the movies, but you were probably all excited when you asked the guys to go throw your balls around, right?"

When Mike's mouth twisted out of its scowl, Tina realized her phrasing. Anger deflated like a pricked balloon and she dropped her face into her hand. "I... never mind."

"I wasn't distracted," Mike said quietly when he had himself back under control. "I was scared."

"Scared." Tina eyed him sidelong. "What do you have to be scared of? Everyone loves you. You're perfect."

His cheeks darkened. "No, I'm not. I screwed up easy questions on senior finals, and I can't even bring myself to try dance moves outside of the apartment, and I... if I never asked you out formally, then you couldn't ever tell me no. Formally. I was always scared that you would." He swallowed. "Because you're beautiful. And smart, and funny, and you have opinions on all the stuff that matters. I was never scared just to talk to you, like I would be with... with Quinn because she was so standoffish. Except I was always scared to tell you how I really felt, and how much I felt it, because I couldn't take screwing that up."

"Oh." Tina swallowed. "I do think that girls can ask out guys, you know. But I never asked you out, because you're... you're Mike Chang. If you didn't seem to want me, I didn't want to hear it said out loud. I didn't want to hear again that someone didn't want to ever put me first."

"I wanted to. I just...."

_We were both too scared to make the first move, and Finn doesn't know the meaning of the word 'scared.' Or of 'failure' or 'rejection' or 'malleable.'_ For whatever reason, he'd heard the last word and promptly confused it with 'marshmallow.' "You never thought about asking out Mercedes, instead?" Tina asked. Everything Mike had said about Tina could also apply to her friend.

"Mercedes is great," Mike said carefully, "and I like her a lot." Just as Tina was about to acknowledge to herself that she was once again not the very first in line, he continued, "I think all the girls at school are really pretty, but you're just... the best out of everyone."

Oh. "Did you ever think about Brittany?" Tina asked, hoping to steady her voice.

Mike managed to smile. "Santana would have killed me."

"Kurt?"

Laughter choked him. "Puck would have _killed_ me. Besides, you're better looking than any of them. ...Also, Kurt's a guy."

"There is that," Tina acknowledged. She took a deep breath. "I'm seeing Finn. I'm still his girlfriend."

Mike's good humor died, and he studied his hands again. "I know."

"I just... what happened, happened. And I'm his girlfriend, now. It's just how it is."

"I know."

_If I could, I would pick you,_ Tina thought, and hoped that he'd somehow hear. "I think you're terrific, Michael Chang. And the world wouldn't know what hit it if you ever decided to dance where people could see."

He laughed softly. "And how do you know that?" After all, he never danced outside of his apartment. She knew that as well as his talent.

"We all know, Mike. We watched how your legs would move whenever music played. How you could keep time better than anyone. I mean, I watched more than the rest, but... but all of your friends know that you can dance, and wish you would. I guess I'm just the first person to tell you. I should have said something earlier." 

"You were my best friend," Mike said. "Not Finn or Puck. I guess I should have told you that, too."

Tears prickled hot. "I'm sorry," Tina said, and meant it even more than she had before. "I... do you want to stay here for the rest of the trip? Your old seat was a window, so here you'd be able to put your feet out into the aisle...."

"I'll stay here," Mike said. "But not so I can stretch my legs."

Two hands caught each other and squeezed hard, unwilling to let go again.

* * *

"He loves me," Kurt said, and kissed a petal of Puck's tattoo. His lips moved to another one. "He loves me not. He loves me. He—"

"Hey," Puck said, ruffling Kurt's hair. "You don't get to say 'loves me not' when I got tattooed with freaking flowers for you."

Bright-eyed and flushed with emotion, Kurt looked up at Puck where his head rested on the pillows. "I still can't believe you did that."

"I sort of can't, either. But you saw the fire, right? Flames are macho. It's like having truck nuts on my arm."

"Please use any other comparison," Kurt groaned. His laughter was thick against Puck's skin. He kissed the broad vein running along the inside of Puck's arm, then the delta of color at his wrist, then his palm. Puck watched him silently twitch back the sheets and press a kiss to his solid abdomen, rippled with hard-earned muscle. Normally, Puck would have been rigid at attention by the time Kurt's mouth pressed wetly against the coarse hair trailing from his navel. They'd barely gotten out of bed all weekend, though, and Kurt wasn't terribly surprised to see only a few light twitches from Puck's cock. Even when he took it into his mouth, it stayed soft.

Oh well. As much fun as it was to play like they only could without Puck's powers, they'd wasted nearly the entire weekend. They were supposed to be saving the world and Kurt had instead debated whether he preferred being on his back or looking down on Puck as he rode him. "We should eat," Kurt said, rising to one elbow and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Plastic bins of reheated leftovers were scattered across his bedroom furniture. At some points they'd recharged with food and water, although he didn't remember any of them.

"If I was taking pills," Puck complained as he rolled out of bed, "I'd never need downtime." His cock looked exhausted between his legs, and still shiny with Kurt's saliva.

"If you'd been taking pills, I'd be on top again and you'd be as sore as I am," Kurt said, moving gingerly. Actually, Puck would be in worse shape. Wanting to keep the resilience of his superpowered flexibility, Kurt had been popping MGH pills like Altoids. Without that aid, he was sure his muscles would be screaming at him instead of merely grumbling.

Puck grinned as Kurt slowly climbed out of bed. "You're a monster when you get going. That was some 'first time.'" 

Kurt laughed and gathered fresh clothes as Puck pulled on discarded ones. "That was all that practice we had from the other New York. I think we both know how bad our _real_ first time was."

Remembering it, Puck frowned. "Yeah, we really shouldn't have rushed. Man, that sucked." When he left for the living room, muttering about how he wanted to see if any preseason games were on, those unfortunate memories put a limp in Puck's step. Kurt watched ruefully. Shaking his head as he recalled one overly confident boy and another boy who was more than a little scared at the entire idea of sex, he went to shower away the smells of a day and a half spent in bed. 

On their second attempt, Puck wanted to be stretched until they were both almost bored with it. Nothing like overcompensation for their mistake.

Before joining Puck, in the living room if not watching football, Kurt spent a long time showering. Next came most of the job of styling his hair for work the next morning. It was always easier to tidy the styling than to do it fresh, and Hollywood often had brutally early schedules.

Perhaps twenty minutes later, Finn let himself in with another new key and sat silently next to Puck. At the sight of Finn's wan, drawn face, Kurt frowned and pressed a cold soft drink into his hand. "Are you all right, Finn? You look like Kristen Stewart on the red carpet." 

"Yeah, I'm just a little headachey." He had sunglasses on and left them there as he watched the game. "I wanted to push my brainreading as far as it'd go, so I took another two pills and went to the middle of Hollywood. You know that place with all the concrete handprints? I went there and tried to read as many minds as I could. I think I pushed myself too hard."

Even Puck looked sympathetic. Kurt also felt a little twinge of shame for spending the weekend in bed, instead of working on his powers to further their goal of saving the world... somehow. Considering that Finn had just spent days out in the sun, he must be even in worse shape than he looked to be so pale. "Here," Kurt said, lightly stroking Finn's hair like their mother had and then handing him two Ibuprofen. "Maybe stick to these pills for a while?"

Finn nodded, swallowed them, and settled in for a long afternoon of watching the men in red and white uniforms trying to hit the men in white and gold uniforms. It didn't seem like listening to the obnoxious announcers would help a headache, but Finn seemed happy and so Kurt let him be. He had guilt to assuage, and nothing wiped away guilt like having a properly-tended house, particularly before company arrived. Puck ignored Kurt as Kurt busied himself with tidying everything, but that was to be expected; Puck generally cared a lot less about guilt than Kurt did.

Muscles hurt as he worked, but not so badly that he had to stop. Kurt scrubbed and dusted, wiped and stowed, and did everything except the vacuuming that would interrupt their viewing. An hour into his productive work, Kurt downed another couple of pills when he felt his limber muscles start to tighten up. Thirty minutes past that, he let out a squeak while going through what had become Finn's room.

Poking his head out of the door, he saw Puck and Finn (still in his sunglasses) looking curiously in his direction. "Finn," Kurt asked breathlessly, "have you dug through the room any more, by any chance?"

"Not really, why?"

"I seem to have found another bag of drugs."

"Cool, that means we won't need to buy more MGH," Puck said.

Kurt's lips thinned and he held up the small bag of white powder.

"Oh."

Finn choked on his drink. "Dude, that stuff's illegal!" Both men looked at him and Finn quietly added, "Like our other pills, and yeah, maybe I won't shout about it so all your neighbors can hear."

Kurt, sighing, sank into the splits to see if his body was still well under the effects of the MGH. Everything moved like it should. "Stay here, I'll get rid of it." By the time he was out the front door, he was invisible with an unseen bag of cocaine in hand. _Stupid Francis,_ he grumbled as he made his way across buildings, over fences, and down a route that no one would ever associate with their apartment. Forgetting about a novelty drug like MGH was one thing, but even an irresponsible trust fund kid should at least be dependable enough to keep track of his coke.

He didn't know if he could mask a cloud from tossing the powder, and didn't want to risk anything doubling back in a breeze to stick on his clothes. Disposing of the drug was still easier than he'd expected. A mop bucket was leaning out of the back of a dirty restaurant kitchen. With an invisible smirk, Kurt carefully dumped the coke into its grey-brown mess, slopped some water into the baggie to get any remnants to stick to the sides, and dropped that in the nearest dumpster.

His whole body buzzed by the time he made it back home, returning via a different route. _I just got rid of illegal drugs without anyone knowing,_ Kurt thought, a little giddy. _I'm a drug runner. An anti-drug runner. Anyway, I'm exciting!_ He was _so_ a secret agent, just like his memories told him. "I'm back, Mr. Husband-to-Be," Kurt said proudly as he walked through the door and returned to visibility. 

Even behind his sunglasses, Finn looked startled.

"...And I didn't tell you that. Because I was, uh, busy." Kurt flashed a weak grin. "I'm engaged! I'll be sure to send you my registry details just as soon as I get to a Neiman Marcus and start attacking their shelves with one of those scanners."

"Yeah, I know you two were 'busy,' that's why I kept getting out of the house. And what do you mean you're engaged? You're nineteen! You're nineteen and you're actually going to marry him. Oh god, Puck warned me about all of this and it's coming true. Can you get me more Ibuprofen? My headache's back."

"You'll deal," Kurt said. "And thank you, congratulations and understanding are always nice to receive from my brother. My twin. Who I shared a uterus with and—"

"Congratulations," Finn said. "Have fun telling Dad."

"He'll be happy for me," Kurt said lightly, before frowning and realizing that no, he wouldn't. Hmm. The initial flash of a smile and hug had morphed into something darker. Oh, well. He'd gotten used to living without his father's support, and he didn't need it now. "Where is Puck, anyway?"

"Santana got ahold of a guy in Ohio. He lives right near Lima, and he's talking to us to figure out what to check for." Good, that'd be helpful. Selfishly, Kurt would like to return to that beautiful condo in his memories rather than an overlarge but poorly laid-out rat trap with peeling linoleum. More responsibly, he saw that if fate was actually expecting them to save the world, there must be something truly dreadful in store if _anything_ rested on their shoulders instead of someone like Captain America's. The true, huge horrors must be headed for the real heroes, and they owed it to everyone to figure out what they could do for their smaller part. Kurt went to wash his hands in the kitchen sink as Finn continued, "I barely talked to the guy. I don't think he's very excited about doing this. Puck's only had him on the line for, I don't know, a minute. If that."

"He's... the brother of Santana's beard?" Kurt asked, trying to remember where their resources were coming from. Cooper Anderson, right. What a ridiculous name.

"Yeah. Blair or something? I didn't pay much attention, I still have a headache. I should take a nap."

"I doubt the beard has a brother named after Gossip Girl," Kurt said lightly. "Plus, Blair Anderson from near Lima, Ohio wouldn't be quite as exciting as oh my _god_ ," he yelped as he bolted for the bedroom with feet clumsy enough to overcome his MGH-granted balance. Many memories of his alternate life were like dreams forgotten five minutes after waking; faded, they needed prompting to come up, but then would hit with full force. 

Puck looked up from his call as Kurt literally fell into the room. "Are you okay?" he asked. "No, not you," he said into the phone. "Kurt just took a header into the dresser."

Kurt snatched the phone from's Puck's hand. "Blaine? Blaine Anderson?"

A voice, familiar from another world, paused before asking, "Hello, who is this?"

_He has absolutely no idea who I am,_ Kurt registered with shock. For them, sorting through memories was like organizing a messy room; eventually, everything would be in order. But whatever had stuck them in this world, without superpowers and with a smaller purpose in life, had ignored everyone outside their circle of classmates. Those people belonged entirely to this timeline and had nothing to recall about that other history. "I'm Kurt."

"Oh, the other person on my list, right."

Kurt sank onto the edge of the bed in shock. That was all he was. The last person on a contact list. "It's Blaine," Kurt said, looking up. Puck squinted in thought and Kurt, thankfully, thought to cover the phone before explaining himself. "My old boyfriend who I would still probably be with if he hadn't gotten shot and you hadn't gotten him to the ER? Blaine?"

"Oh!" Puck said, grinning. His confidence over their future together couldn't be more obvious; not even Kurt's suggestion of still being together with Blaine gave him pause. "What are the odds?"

"Could you give me a second?" Kurt asked, squeezing Puck's hand as he asked.

Although he didn't look thrilled about being dismissed, Puck nodded and left him alone. He even closed the door as he went, and with trepidation, Kurt uncovered the phone and began, "I'm sorry that you've gotten pulled into this, but it's really a funny story...."

"I'm sure it is," Blaine said, tiredly but not unkindly. "But I'm hoping to just get the basics from you all, so that I can focus on what I'm looking for in Ohio. My brother won't stop bothering me until I can at least say I've looked for... whatever."

"You really don't remember me," Kurt said despite himself.

"I... should I?" After a pause, Blaine asked, "Kurt Hutton? It really doesn't sound familiar, I'm sorry."

"Kurt... Kurt Hummel," Kurt recalled, like another dream. He saw someone's huge smile under a baseball cap and wobbled as fresh dizziness struck. "Does that mean anything to... no, of course it doesn't." _I had a different name there. Just like Varinka said. She's right about everything._

"Sorry, but no. What are you hoping to find here?" When Kurt, dazed, said nothing, Blaine cleared his throat. "Look... I'm sure you're a very nice person, but I only know you through my brother. And I just...." The strain of politeness in his voice was almost palpable. "I'd just like to focus on the basics."

"Someone's shoved us into this world to get us out of the way," Kurt said. "That's what seems to be going on, anyway, because there was a whole different world where things happened very differently. And in that world, all of us... lived in Ohio."

"I see," Blaine said, and it could not sound more obvious that he wanted to get off the phone.

"Please don't hang up. I know you. It's so important that I get back to that world, because... well, because I have to save the world. But there are so many things that need to happen, and...." Kurt's breath hitched. "I know this sounds crazy. I know it does. But you're supposed to be one of my very best friends in the entire world, and we even dated, and... and for all I know we would have gotten married if someone hadn't shot you."

"Someone shot me," Blaine said warily, like he didn't know whether it was more unsettling that this stranger wanted to talk about a ring or a gunshot wound.

"They didn't kill you. But then you dumped me afterward because you couldn't take...." Kurt lowered the phone and took a deep breath before picking the handset back up. "I know this is ridiculous. Even though you can turn on the nightly news and see people flying, this is still ridiculous. You probably hear about heroes getting sent into other worlds, but you never figure it'll happen to you, right?"

"It's been very nice meeting you, but I really—"

"You go to Dalton Academy. It's a private school. A really expensive one. Your bedroom is the second door on the right upstairs, and you have trophies sitting on your dresser. They're for things your parents had you do. When you grew up, you liked choir more." How could he know someone so well and yet struggle for the right things to say to convince them of that knowledge? Things that wouldn't make him sound like some romantic stalker? Of course, he'd probably crossed that line with mentioning marriage. "You think all dogs should have to go through obedience training ever since your Grandma Ellie's Schnauzer bit your foot one year at Christmas. You needed stitches. You showed me the scar, once."

Blaine's breathing was very loud. "I don't know why my brother told you all of this, but it's not necessary. Just tell me what you want me to find and I'll get it over with. Please."

"But he didn't," Kurt said softly. "I've never even met him face to face. I didn't... you never even told me that you had a brother."

There was a pause long enough that Kurt thought the call had dropped. "You know, if you're trying to convince me that you really know me from some other world, it's strange to say that you know _everything_ about me except that I have a brother."

"I know. It is strange. And this probably makes me sound even less believable, but I swear you never mentioned him."

There was another long pause. "Actually," Blaine said very softly, "that almost proves that you know what you're talking about."

Kurt didn't say anything, fearful of messing up whatever he'd just done right. There was noise outside the door and he firmly ignored whatever distractions Finn and Puck were trying to cause.

"Anyone trying to fake it would pile on absolutely everything they knew," Blaine said quietly to himself. "And if they were getting info through Cooper... well, he has no idea how I feel. He wouldn't tell them to say that... okay."

"Okay?" Kurt asked when he realized he was expected to reply.

"I believe you. Not everything about... us, necessarily, but I can believe that you know me somehow, and that you've been hidden here and that people are in danger. You're right: every day I see the news and people are flying and using magic and throwing fireballs around. I can believe this much." With a long sigh, Blaine asked, "What do you want me to do? Cooper told me to search but didn't even tell me what to look for."

"I... there will be people. I'll try to remember their names and I'll text them when I do. These are all people who've been involved with us before, but they might or might not be in Ohio right now. If you could track them down, and just let me know where they are? That'd be great. It'd at least be something. It'd be a start."

"Sure," Blaine said, not unkindly.

"You might want to be a little careful," Kurt said, feeling a bad joke ready to come out but unable to stop it. "Some of them might be part of S.H.I.E.L.D. and they'll haul you in for questioning." Oh, he would love to be able to stop awkward humor before it erupted, instead of regretting it afterward. "Um. Please don't actually get S.H.I.E.L.D. mad at you. It's a government agency who does government things and you just don't want to get in their way."

"Good to know," Blaine said. "I'll look for your texts, then."

"I... right. Thank you." Kurt inhaled. "Thank you very much, Mr. Anderson." Formal was good.

"You're welcome, Mr.... Hummel?"

Kurt almost corrected him back to "Hutton," but let it rest. The name did sound right. "I'll work on that tonight and get it to you. Thanks again."

"One last thing before I go."

"Hmm?" Kurt asked, heart leaping. Maybe he'd remembered something.

"If you have superpowers, what can you do?"

"Oh." Well, that was disappointing. "Illusions, flexibility, and fighting. I can pick up almost anything and use it as a weapon." 

"Sounds dangerous. I'll be sure not to get you mad at me, then."

He'd actually made a joke. Even after that terrible start, Blaine felt comfortable enough to joke. Kurt smiled as the world tilted back into place a few degrees, and they repeated their farewells. _Alright,_ he thought, and stood. This was doable. There was someone with absolutely no reason to trust him in this world; Kurt had never visited Dalton, never transferred, never _anything_ and yet he'd somehow gotten Blaine to believe him. Sort of. Everything was going to work out.

* * *

Mike didn't know if he could do this.

Everything had seemed all right on the taxi ride in from LAX. He and Tina were getting along again, and Los Angeles was enough of its own universe to delight even the New York natives. Hollywood, the Pacific, the Santa Monica Pier... it was exciting to be around them, even if he wouldn't outright play the tourist. Their group of five had laughed all the way to waiting on the ancient elevator that took Artie to the second floor of Kurt's building. No wonder that it seemed to barely be used; Mike could have taken the stairs five times and back by the time it finally creaked its way to the first floor.

Everything changed when Quinn knocked on the door and Finn was the one to answer. Promises made to Tina were forgotten. Mike hated Finn's stupid face in that instant, and hated his rugby shirt, and hated how he was wearing sunglasses indoors like some sort of wannabe talent agent. Although the worst of the resentment passed as soon as quickly as it had come, it lingered deep within Mike like indigestion. Worst of all, Finn kept glancing at him like he wanted to say something. Mike was not in the mood to have a big conversation that day with Finn, too.

Fortunately, the apartment was much larger than he'd expected. He could see now how even a place in a bad part of town, cheap enough for Kurt and Puck to afford, was large enough to hold that old roommate's parties. In front of the sprawling television was a wealth of leather sectional seating, and beyond that stood empty floor for dancing. Around the edges of an area rug were well-scrubbed stains. 

"How was your flight?" Puck asked as he started passing out drinks. Finn smiled, but lingered in the corner with what Mike recognized as a headache that their arrival had cranked back to a higher volume. He was a little smugly glad about that, too.

"Good. Long," Quinn said. "The guy next to me knew better than to talk."

"The guy next to me talked about the Canadian oil pipeline project," Artie said.

Quinn frowned. "You know about that?"

"No, _he_ talked," Artie said wryly, and they laughed just as a closed door opened.

Whatever Kurt had been doing in there, it had held his attention enough to overpower the sounds of their arrival. His eyes widened in shock. "Hey!" Mercedes said, and threw her arms around him.

"Hey," Kurt said, hugging her back. "I... when did you all get here?"

"Just now. I did not know there were worse airports than JFK, but LAX proved me wrong." she said, letting him go and roaming around.

"Hey," Tina said warmly and took over the hug.

The bewilderment on Kurt's face passed soon enough. "I can't believe you all managed to come out here, and on such short notice."

Quinn looked over from where she was chatting with Puck. "It took some doing," she said simply. Shadows hung over her eyes.

Artie was busy with Finn. "Look at me," he said, and put on a pair of sunglasses. "I'm a cool L.A. dude, too."

"No one gets to make fun of me for having a headache," Finn announced to the entire group. His long finger cut through the air toward Puck, then Kurt. "Those two are loud." 

Everyone went quiet and a few mouths twitched. Mike started coughing on nothing and found it hard to stop. "Planes are dry!" Kurt said loudly. "They always warn you about moisturizing. So Mike, your throat must be killing you, and why don't I make you some tea? In the kitchen?"

Mike looked between Finn and Tina. "I could help."

"Mike is going to help me make tea!" Kurt said, just as loud, and retreated to the long, narrow kitchen. Mike followed him there, dutifully putting water into the kettle even though it was hardly a two person job. He guessed that Kurt didn't want to talk about the (still weird) topic that Finn had raised. From way Kurt's cheeks lost color as he worked in silence, Mike had guessed correctly. "This must be awkward for you," Kurt said after collecting the teas he had in his cabinets. "With Tina and Finn. Oh. Maybe I shouldn't have brought them up. Although they're here, and so it's obviously something that's going to come up for discussion, and—"

"Tina and I talked on the plane, we're better."

"Thank god, I had no idea how to pull myself out of that one."

Mike grinned and pointed to a peppermint blend when Kurt showed him the options. "Tina and Mercedes are going to use Santana's apartment, it sounds like, and she's staying with Brittany. So, I have a little space between me and Tina, anyway, while things settle."

"Probably for the best. Where are the rest of you going to...." Kurt sighed. "Oh no. Tina might be gone with Santana, but Finn's still here, you know. And we only have two bathrooms, and no one gets to use mine. Well, Puck can. But no one else."

"I'll manage. I guess." Mike shrugged. "Worse comes to worse, I can always get a hotel room." It might be the simple presence of that escape route that let him deal with the days to come.

There was a strange gleam in Kurt's eyes when he said, "It'll be tough at first, no question. But we're hoping that you might feel a little differently after we fill you in on what's been going on."

"What do you mean?" Mike asked as a few first brave curls of steam escaped.

"It—unfortunately for you—involves Finn, who really shouldn't be doing anything along these lines tonight after he overextended himself. But tomorrow, we're going to have a very enlightening discussion about what exactly our role is with this whole world-saving business." Kurt allowed, "Brittany told us she'd pick up anyone staying there at seven, so the girls will have a while to talk. It might be that Tina and Mercedes will hear everything before then. We'll have our big group meeting tomorrow, though, after all of us get off work."

Just like Mike, Kurt had always seemed worried about his qualifications for life in general. Mike hid it through silence while Kurt masked his uncertainty through icy bravado. Even behind facades, though, like could sometimes find like, and his conversation with Tina had him thinking along these lines. Kurt had been afraid of disappointing people just as surely as Mike had, and so he felt like Kurt would give him a true answer to this. "Be honest: do you think we can do whatever we're supposed to do?"

A wry smile curled Kurt's lips. "I ran drugs today and talked to someone from another world. Here," he said, and poured the hot water into a waiting mug. 

"Oh," Mike said, the only answer he could possibly give. He didn't know if that promised success for them, but it at least promised _something_ interesting. He could do with a spot of interesting before he started studying the most boring subjects in the world at Columbia.

"How's your throat?" Kurt asked after Mike had let the tea steep and taken his first sip. 

Mike's thumb pointed toward the ceiling. "I'll live."

* * *

Chaos ruled the set when Kurt got to work the next morning. As Alan pulled their carpool into its spot, the occupants shared an odd look. Production assistants and security personnel were running back and forth in a tizzy. In the pre-dawn murk, flashlights bobbed anywhere the overhead lights didn't cover.

"Hey, what's going on?" Alan asked loudly as the small group of employees made their way forward. The spotlit image of a wind-twisted western tree against the blue sky of the twins' ranch looked lonely in the darkness. No one immediately shouted at them them to stop, and secure in not thinking there was a bomb threat or criminal on the loose, the trio continued toward that soundstage and its accompanying offices.

Other shows filmed at the studio. Kurt hoped whatever was going on with those productions wouldn't interrupt filming. The twins had been licensed for a half-dozen new promotional videos, and Juniper herself for another handful. Although he hated to admit it, her star was ripe to rise and leave her sister's behind. No one could help but fall in love with Juniper Matthews when they saw her performing. Even he was blown away every time, despite his leg aching in memory of her steel-toed boot.

"Checking for any signs of a break-in," said a security guard as he jogged by.

Kurt frowned. "What, you think someone came by on a Sunday evening?"

"They just want answers," the guard said as he disappeared around a corner.

The trio shrugged and continued to the door. "Morning, Glenda," Kurt trilled as he poured himself a cup of coffee, doused it liberally with cream and sugar, and swanned into the wardrobe office. His muscles still ached a bit, gloriously, but another dose of MGH kept that in check. He'd stuck to only one pill at a time, so that his illusion powers would take active effort to implement.

Glenda looked up from her phone, frowning. "Did anyone tell you what's going on?"

Kurt peered over the rim of his cup as he sipped. "Location shooting in Beverly Hills, and so we need to get all the clothes packed early? I hope all those guards don't get in the way." Sky and Juniper were going to learn a valuable lesson that episode about trying to buy friends with expensive presents, rather than finding people who loved them for who they really were. He supposed it was a fair lesson for Sky to learn, but no one would ever love Juniper unless she bribed them. Really, she might as well just pull out the credit cards.

Leaning in close like she was afraid someone would hear, Glenda hissed, "The twins are gone."

Kurt froze, and registered after a beat that he'd taken too large a mouthful of hot coffee. He swallowed instinctively to get it away from his tender mouth and felt it slide burning claws down his throat. Coughing, he asked, "What?"

"The Matthews girls, they're _gone_. Their parents have filed a police report and the LAPD is combing the city for any leads. That's what Bill says, anyway." Bill was the show's producer, and probably close to a heart attack that morning. "With all the new videos coming up, I guess their parents were thinking that they might have come in to the studio over the weekend for practice, or... I don't know. They just want answers."

"The girls are thirteen, why wouldn't their parents know where they are?" Kurt demanded. Even his distant father had set a strict curfew for him and hunted Kurt down on the rare times before he learned to respect it.

Even as he asked, they both knew the official answer: the Matthews were perfect stereotypes of stage parents, who shopped their girls around as hard as knock-off Vuitton vendors in Times Square. It was their unceasing drive to make their daughters stars that had gotten the show on the air in the first place, and every new contract signed for their daughters gave them bigger pockets for retirement. But Glenda was nicer than Kurt, and so only said, "I wish I knew. I hope they're okay."

_I'm going to lose my job,_ Kurt thought frantically, and shredded his hard-won hairstyle with nervous fingers. Officially, he should feel far worse about the possibly-kidnapped barely-pubescent girls than the challenge of finding a new job, but there was no _way_ to make rent on Puck's part-time wages alone. His next thought was for Sky's safety, which made him feel like a little less of a heel; the thought of anyone hurting her really did twist his gut. He couldn't bring himself to worry about Juniper. Oh well. With a deep breath, he focused. "Are they just being teenagers? You know, 'going on strike' and sleeping at a friend's house?"

"That's what we're hoping for. They could just be hiding out with someone they know. They've been working them pretty hard, no one would be surprised...."

No, no one would be surprised. The Matthews girls—Juniper, at least—were expected to be at least a billion-dollar property for Disney before they inevitably aged out of their actor stable. It wasn't only their parents who'd been working them hard. The Mouse was a difficult overlord to please. Recalling that name calmed Kurt's nervous stomach. "Forget the police. No one has scarier stormtroopers than the Walt Disney Company. They are going to have Disneyland's entire security force combing this city in their little golf carts."

Glenda managed a wan smile.

"And if that doesn't work," Kurt continued, "they'll pull out the character-themed tanks." He could picture it now: a fleet of armored vehicles rolling down Santa Monica Boulevard, blaring martial drums-and-bugle versions of It's a Small World as they went.

She laughed despite herself. "You're right. If something bad was going on, they would have contacted someone by now and asked for money."

"Everyone knows they're worth a lot, but only if you talk to the people signing their paychecks, right?" Kurt said very reasonably. "If you just want to grab some kids for being kids, you'd take someone who would cause you less trouble. And if you want to kidnap celebrities, well, don't pick someone who works for a company as powerful as Disney. They'll turn up when they've proven their point about better working hours, watch and see."

"You're right. I'm sure you're right." She fluttered her hands at her eyes, and Kurt realized with surprise that she was close to crying. "I'm sorry. I just have a daughter about their age. If they're not hiding out with a friend, all I can think of is how scared they must be."

"They're fine," Kurt said. "I promise. They're going to be okay. Sky and... and Juniper will be right back here on set by the day after tomorrow, just watch and see. Okay?"

"Okay," Glenda agreed, sniffling. "I should be the one comforting you. I'm the mom."

_I've gotten used to taking care of myself,_ Kurt thought as he pulled her into a hug and patted her back.

"You can go on home," Glenda said. "Go get some sleep, if you can. Our shooting permit has early hours, so it's not like we'll be able to film later anyway."

"Thanks. You should do the same, all right?" Kurt poured out his coffee and rinsed his cup. "Go hug your kids," he suggested before he called for a taxi and headed outside.

_They're at a friend's house,_ Kurt thought as he drove back home in silence broken only by the driver's choice in stations: mainstream pop, surprisingly. _Everything is fine. Stars on the Disney Channel are not kidnapped. Stars on the Disney Channel grow up and get charged with DUIs._ The reassurances in his mind became harder to hear, and Kurt realized in his early morning daze that the familiar song had been replaced with a spoken news bulletin. He sat up straight and listened in, hoping for word of the twins.

It wasn't about the Matthews girls.

No one was sure who had fired on who first, but open shooting was tearing through towns on both sides of the border between India and Pakistan. Word had it that outside forces had been trying to provoke conflict there; likely, the same forces that had blown up the heart of the United Nations building. Just like in New York, they'd succeeded.

Without waiting for the full details, an already warhungry and China-frustrated Washington had declared its full support for its ally India. Russia, just as hungry for justice against the country they felt had set them up to take the fall for the U.N. attack, was ready to meet them. The report went into further details from there. Although Kurt was ignorant about much of global politics, he knew enough to say exactly what the first part of the bulletin meant.

World War Three might have just started with one stray bullet.


	12. Look at Your Choices

Zombies had invaded the streets of Los Angeles and Artie wanted everyone to see. He held up his iPhone and showed everyone the game on its screen. Mike laughed at the appropriate choice, and even Quinn smiled before returning to digging through the old roommate's blu-rays. Finn managed only a wan smile.

Artie had played phone games late at night, too, and he'd won the straw selection to avoid the couch and share Finn's bed. Just as Finn's headache was easing to nothing, bleeps and bloops sent it to pounding again. Artie had slept on the plane and was wide awake after hours spent snoozing at thirty-five thousand feet. Finn was left staring at the darkness with Artie to his back, pretending he was asleep and resisting the urge to sigh. They'd freely offered their friends a place to stay. It wasn't their fault that Finn had decided that trying to read a hundred brains at once would be good training. He, with his typical good timing, had managed to give himself a near-migraine just before everyone arrived for their first visit to Los Angeles.

At least it didn't feel like anything was permanently wrong. When he'd watched Puck swallow one pill before going off to get his (ugh) rose tattoo, it struck Finn how little MGH Puck had taken compared to him, or even Kurt. While it made sense—Puck's powers didn't need practice like theirs did—it did remind Finn of how a normal MGH dosage had to be far closer to Puck's occasional single pill than the double dose he'd been taking every six hours. Even so, his general poor mood felt no different than when he'd kept smacking his head into things after his last growth spurt.

It would be good to take a MGH break, not least because they'd start running through the stockpile faster with more mouths around. This Francis guy had stored enough pills to host a lot of superpowered guests, but even that bag couldn't last forever. Retreating back into his own mind with no other thoughts intruding would help Finn to kick the last of this headache. He didn't have to hear Mike musing on the best way to react to him, didn't have to feel Quinn's unspoken fear that she was about to be locked into a life she didn't want, and didn't get hit with occasional horrifying jolts to his groin that informed him that even with a crowd outside their door, Puck couldn't keep his hands off Finn's brother.

Yes, it would be very nice to have his head to himself for a while. Finn had mostly gotten over the stigma of being hit with 'chick powers,' but this was a simple physical limit. The lights were obnoxiously bright that morning, his head still vaguely ached, and so Finn still had his sunglasses on as he sat on the opposite side of the couch's horseshoe from Mike.

Mike. How was he going to deal with that? Tina and Mike obviously needed to be together, but Tina was a spitfire when she got going and would probably resist any attempts to shove her over next to Mike where she belonged. Actually, she'd already be annoyed at hearing that she _belonged_ anywhere, with anyone. Finn frowned. This might be hard, especially since he had to dump Tina after he'd moved onto the boob-grabbing stage. (They were really great boobs.) Well, if he just gave everyone their memories back, then they'd realize they belonged together and solve it for him, right? Of course, that would involve taking more pills, and convincing Mike to let Finn rip away the film of constructed reality over his mind. Although Finn wasn't positive, he had the sneaking suspicion that Mike might not want Finn of all people digging inside his brain.

"Do I have something on my face?" Mike asked, and Finn realized that he'd been staring.

"No," Finn lied behind his sunglasses. "I wasn't looking at you. It's just where my head was pointed. I was thinking that, uh, Quinn would like that movie."

She shot him an odd look. "I'm not going to watch Fast Five, Finn."

He shrugged hugely. "Your loss."

Rolling her eyes, Quinn went back to hunting. Artie's game beeped. Mike kept staring like he might want to shove Finn's sunglasses down his throat.

"Thank you," Finn whispered when the door unlocked. Whether Puck or Kurt, someone was coming home and would be on his side. Twisting around revealed Kurt at the door, all in shades of brown behind the lenses. Standing behind those sunglasses was about the only time Kurt could manage getting any sort of tan, especially when guests had kept him inside almost constantly. "Hey, what's up? I thought you had early work."

Kurt glanced over his shoulder at the pale dawn. "I did. You're all up?"

"We're on New York time," Quinn explained.

"And I heard them," Finn said with a tight smile, hoping that Mike in particular wouldn't take him as offended. 

"Oh," Kurt said and forgot to lock the door when he closed it, until Finn reminded him. Although Quinn protested when Kurt grabbed the remote and turned off the DVD menu, their attention was soon held by headlines all over the Today Show.

"It's not war," Artie said after the breathless anchors tried to convince their viewers that it was, too. "Listen, those guys haven't said anything official, and neither have us or Russia. It's a couple of towns. It'll be fine."

"Remember how World War I started?" Mike asked grimly.

"No," Finn admitted.

"We had a whole test on the war last year," Mike said. Finn shrugged, and Mike rolled his eyes. "One guy gets shot in his car. That was enough for a lot of bad stuff to go down."

"And who's going to get called up when it happens this time?" Kurt asked, mostly to himself. "Mostly young men not in school, and ideally, not working." His laugh twisted Finn's stomach. "Finn, we need to talk. Now. Everyone else, please watch your movie, and make sure that Francis didn't replace any of them with porn. He burnt... a lot of discs."

As Artie told Quinn to start looking for any handwritten labels, Finn obediently followed Kurt into his room. Closing the door, Kurt began pacing. "We need to move quickly. But I'd like to have some backup for telling them what's going on with that other... world, timeline, reality, and Puck and the girls don't get off until this afternoon."

"Sure, okay, but what's going on? Why are you home? What are we doing?"

"What's going on is that the Matthews twins are missing, and I don't know if I have a job anymore until they're found. As someone on the radio reminded me, all four of the nations involved in this... incident have nukes. And... damn." Kurt breathed long and slow. "I promised Blaine that I would text him names to look for, and I completely forgot to send anything last night after people showed up. That's what we'll do right now, all right? The two of us will remember all the names we can and send them to him."

Digging through his memories with purpose, Finn uncovered the truth of just who that boy on the phone had been. He laughed a little despite everything. "Anderson. I get it. Man, he was in a bad mood."

"He doesn't seem to be a fan of his brother, to say the least. And I didn't even know Cooper existed," Kurt muttered, frowning. "Okay, let's get to work."

"It'll be okay," Finn promised as Kurt bent over his notepad. Peering over the rim of his sunglasses, Finn saw that nerves had drained much of Kurt's faint color. He did look pale and worried, especially in the light of very early morning. He must really care about those girls at work. Or about the potential of getting sent off to war. "We're all here and we're going to fix things, right? Even if things get bad, we're going to save the world. Your weirdo psychic said so."

Kurt's pen stopped mid-stroke. "We're not all here," he said thoughtfully.

What? Oh, no. "Rachel," Finn sighed.

Although low-level resentment lingered, Finn was mostly in sync with the other world, and he knew that he and Rachel should always be good friends if nothing else. (Plus, there was that promise he'd made Puck. Oh, Puck probably thought he was so clever, getting Finn to promise that he wouldn't date Rachel again.) But, as he remembered their current world, he thought of all its details and wondered how to possibly overcome Rachel trying to carve out a career half a globe away. It was one thing to convince their friends to fly out last-minute across the country. Would Rachel's dads believe the need for her to flit off from London to Los Angeles? Would she have the money, if they didn't? This was going to be tough.

"We'll figure her out after this," Kurt decided, and leaned back over his paper. "Start saying any names you can think of."

"Rachel Berry."

"Besides her, Finn."

"Oh." Finn bit his lip. "Um. Blond... blond shaggy guy! Football!"

"Shaggy hair. Right." Kurt closed his eyes. "Ssssssssss...."

"Sam! Sam Evans." Finn phewed in satisfaction as Kurt jotted down the name. Yes, he remembered Sam from New Directions: well-intentioned, athletic, incredibly dorky. He could be a good resource about superpowers and world-saving, if they could track him down. "Put a star by his name, so Blaine knows to really hunt for him."

Kurt nodded. His fingers paused above the paper. "Lauren?"

"Zizes. Put a star for her, too. They worked together before, right? They can work together again."

"Hopefully with better luck," Kurt muttered. The last time the three of them had worked together, they'd been captured and used as bait, and Sam and Blaine had both taken bullet wounds breaking out with Kurt and Quinn's help. It had been a close call getting Blaine to the hospital in time, and a razor-thin one for Sam. 

With the dam breached, it was easier to work. They remembered other students from a school they'd never attended, both friendly and not. They remembered teachers and people from around town, and then they remembered people who worked for the government. As his pen stilled once more, Kurt said, "Sue."

"Sue... oh. Oh." Finn swallowed. "Yeah. If we weren't there in Ohio, then I guess she'd be alive in this world, wouldn't she?" They'd mentioned Jacob Ben Israel in their list of McKinley students. Finn had almost forgotten how he'd bled out in a pile of limbs on a dark Ohio street. He would never forget Sue's death, though. He'd caused it when his body was taken over by the same forces hunting them.

"If some other mission didn't do the job, then yes. She's alive. And so is Shelby," Kurt said. Her name and everything it meant made Finn shudder. "Matt." Apparently the list was long enough with the final addition of Matt Rutherford, and Kurt began typing names into his phone. Until he had sent off the file, Finn let him work.

"Burt," Finn suggested as the name floated up. "Send another text."

Kurt stared at him, and like he was in a dream, slowly said, "Carole."

For a breath, they stared at each other. Those names were enormous like no others had been, and yet they didn't seem to slot into any sort of logical role. _Parents?_ Finn asked himself. _But we have...._

"In that other world," Kurt said just as Finn came to the same conclusion, "our parents are missing. No... dead. We're trying to get to a world where our parents are dead. If we go there," he said, just to be clear, "our parents will die."

Cold, strong fingers clamped Finn's gut. Although he'd love nothing more than to argue with Kurt over such a terrible suggestion, everything in him screamed its truth. He could remember calling another woman 'Mom,' and standing in a wedding that reunited the brothers. Kurt had always had problems with their parents, particularly their father, but even he sounded put off by the enormity of this. For Finn, who'd grown up as the beloved favored son, it was overwhelming. "We can't kill our parents," he whispered.

"We're not... that's not...." Kurt swallowed. "We wouldn't be doing it."

"Still!"

"We can't tell anyone this, Finn. Not until we know what's going on. Do you really think anyone would agree to do this if they thought it would kill their parents?" He held up his hands. "We're not doing anything to get back to that timeline or... or whatever it is. Right now we're just supposed to save the world, and nuclear war seems like a likely thing to stop."

"Okay," Finn said reluctantly. It didn't seem right to hide something like this, but Kurt was right. (Even if, unsurprisingly, Kurt didn't seem _entirely_ destroyed by the idea of trading in their parents.) The challenges facing them were far too great to stop their work. He pulled off his sunglasses and rubbed his tired eyes, wishing again that their visiting friends had let him get just a little more sleep.

"Do you see any more easy stickers to pull off?" Kurt asked hopefully.

"Huh?"

"I can see that you're checking my mind," Kurt said. "Are there any answers?"

Brow furrowed, Finn asked, "What do you mean, you can see me checking? I haven't taken any pills since I went to the handprint theatre yesterday."

Kurt's eyes widened and Finn began to get a terrible feeling. "You haven't taken _any_ MGH?" Kurt asked with a desperate edge to his voice as he reached behind him.

Beginning to breathe hard, Finn shook his head. "No. Why?" Kurt's mind was the easiest for him to sense, thanks to their blood ties, and it was as unknown a place as any normal, unpowered human would see. He didn't have a scrap of telepathy in him right then. But, as Kurt showed him a hand mirror, Finn saw his eyes glowing like they did when he put powers to use.

The glass nearly cracked under his desperate, grabbing fingers. "What the hell?" Finn squeaked. No, this wasn't exactly like when he read minds or used telekinesis. Then, his eyes glowed with a uniform purple hue from corner to corner. This was only the irises, in a bright amber like the normal brown of his eyes cranked up in some special effects shop. Though faint enough to be unnoticeable behind his sunglasses, Finn had the sinking feeling that no one would miss that glow on its own. "I don't have _any_ MGH in me right now," Finn hissed, like Kurt had something to do with it. No, wait. He _did_ have something to do with it: he was the one who'd found those stupid drugs! Whatever these lingering side effects were, it was his brother's fault!

His brother, Finn saw with dark satisfaction, who'd been taking nearly as much MGH as him. "Hey, dude, you're looking a little pale," Finn smirked, and turned the mirror back around on Kurt. That wasn't the natural pale of him being nervous over an imminent war, that had been further hidden by an early morning. That was something inhuman and looking moreso by the minute.

After a few long beats of staring into the mirror, Kurt leapt off the mattress and turned on every last light he could. Even the cheery yellow glow did nothing to add color back to his cheeks. "Oh my god," Kurt breathed. "I look like Dita von Teese's concealer. For winter. What did you _do?_ " he demanded, and smacked Finn on the arm.

"What did _you_ do?" Finn asked, hitting him back.

"You did things to my brain!" Smack.

"They were your drugs!" Smack.

"Which you took, and oh look, _we're really twins again._ " Smack smack.

"Wait, what?" Finn asked, and a furious Kurt turned the mirror back on him. His glowing eyes widened. Just as Kurt had faded to Anne Hathaway's white skin in that weird Wonderland movie, so had Finn lost color in his face. Finn didn't end on a shade that was so obviously alien, starting off darker like he had, but was easily as fair as Kurt had been before these apparent MGH side effects. Against it, his hair and eyebrows looked almost black from the contrast, and his amber eyes seemed even stranger.

For a very long time, neither boy dared moved. No more changes were visible as they waited. "It's built up in our systems," Kurt said when he dared to breathe. "When you use the same shampoo for a long time, you need to use a clarifying rinse to get the buildup off, and then you're fine. We'll stop taking it for a while and we'll be fine."

"We will?" Finn asked.

"We... hold on." Kurt lunged for his laptop and opened it nearly hard enough to snap off the monitor. His fingers sounded like gunshots against the keyboard. Google suggested many useless conclusions to his MGH search: MGH production, MGH illegal, MGH source, MGH cost. Kurt ignored them and clicked on the third line in the list: MGH side effects. They scanned the page together, and both breathed long sighs of relief.

MGH was known for its side effects, which faded once usage was stopped. These side effects typically affected users' personalities and they could become temperamental, irrational, or even violent. Great. Rarer were physical side effects, thought to be associated with the DNA source used as a base for the production. _They use some DNA reading to make these drugs? Wow, this is high-tech._ But, just as all of them had gotten individual and unchanging powers instead of the roulette wheel that MGH was supposed to grant, maybe this batch was unique in that way, too. None of them were punching each other, if he ignored how Kurt and he had just been smacking each other's shoulder. (They were brothers, that was allowed.) If they could trade irrational fistfights for temporary physical changes, that was probably the better deal.

"We probably should have looked up side effects before we started taking it," Kurt sighed, and bit his lip. He looked up at Finn. "If we tell them, they're never going to agree to help us. They'll just turn around and fly home again."

"I don't think they would," Finn said uncertainly.

"Hi, guys," Kurt sing-songed. "So, we want to have Finn rip off your fake memories with his powers that he gets from illegal drugs, and then you'll start taking them, too! Oh, and you might grow an extra arm or something, but don't worry, it'll fall off once we're done." He'd seldom looked as patronizing as he did right then.

"...We might grow an extra arm or something?"

Kurt rubbed his hands over his pale face. "We can't let them see. We'll tell them everything, just... not right now. Not before we get their memories back in place. Once they understand that, they'll agree to the MGH. It'll be fine."

"Okay," Finn said, although his gut was churning again. So they weren't telling their friends about their dead parents, nor about the MGH side effects? This didn't seem like a good idea, but Kurt's arguments made sense, too. It wasn't like their friends were going to take the stuff before they knew what was happening; the two of them simply weren't going to go back out there and watch a movie with everyone while his eyes were glowing gold and Kurt looked like some special effect sprite during a Narnian winter.

"Stay," Kurt commanded him like a dog. Finn made a face after Kurt as he stepped into his bathroom, connected directly to the bedroom, and soon returned with a small container. "Juniper has destroyed travel kits more than once," Kurt explained as he popped open what turned out to be a makeup case. Before Finn could wonder why his brother kept a full box of cosmetics on hand, he continued, "My boss and I trade off bringing backup supplies to location shoots, just in case she throws a tantrum again. Makeup loves us. They buy us Pinkberry."

"Okay," Finn said, clueless.

Tight as a drumhead and as irritated as he ever got, Kurt said, "Isn't it obvious? We'll just use a little makeup to cover our skin until we can tell everyone what's going on." Although that didn't sound remotely pleasant, Finn kept his mouth shut. There was no reasoning with Kurt when he got into a mood; he knew that from both world's memories. This world's Kurt was snippier, that world's Kurt had more genuine self-confidence, and they were coming together in an unfortunate mix. Yes, he would just go along with Kurt's plan and ride out this storm.

_I really don't want to grow another arm,_ Finn thought, and missed what Kurt was expecting him to take.

"It's just lotion, Finn," Kurt said impatiently, and thrust the bottle at him.

"But I only use lotion for one thing."

"Please do not tell me what that 'one thing' is. Now moisturize." Finn dutifully moisturized, and Kurt attacked him with a little triangular sponge as soon as the stuff was worked completely into his skin. That skin felt the same, at least, even if Finn looked like he hadn't seen the sun in a month. Disappointment soon replaced Kurt's focused look and Finn frowned in return. "Is it not working?"

"It's the right color," Kurt said, and had Finn compared his unpainted hand with his face in the mirror. The problem was obvious to both. "But it's stage makeup, and I don't do this for a living." No one who came within five feet of Finn could help but notice the makeup plastered on him. In exchange for looking like himself again, he'd traded in his pores. 

"You could just illusion us," Finn suggested after a long, thoughtful beat. Although Kurt was clearly unhappy about the idea, he didn't have a better one to offer, and nodded and downed a single MGH pill. Taking a makeup remover sheet, Finn began scrubbing his face and was pleased to see his hand darken by the time he was done. Glancing at the time showed that they'd spent hours running through names and watching the side effects hit; their friends must be wondering if they'd abandoned them. At least there was less time to kill until Puck and the girls came over, and while Kurt had to keep up this illusion. "Come on. Let's go watch movies. You can say you were worried about those girls getting murdered and started crying, or whatever."

"They're not murdered, Finn," Kurt corrected angrily, although he forgot to add a flush of red to his cheeks. "They are fine. They are barely-teenaged girls and we are not going to joke about them being murdered."

"I thought you didn't like the one girl," Finn pointed out after an awkward beat in which he settled his glasses back on. In case Kurt's attention wandered or the pill timer ran low, he might as well have backup for his glowing eyes.

Turning to the clock, Kurt said softly, "I didn't realize it was so late, and I just... I thought we'd hear something by now." Another beat, and he shook his head. "Movies. Right."

"Wow," Quinn said when they finally returned to the living room. The news was long gone, replaced with Inception. "You two are amazing hosts."

"Are we ever going to eat lunch?" Artie wondered, and Mike's eyebrows raised pointedly.

"Sorry," Finn said, although he really wasn't. He felt Kurt give his fingertips a quick, unseen squeeze and smiled; none of the three had noticed their MGH side effects. "We'll order in."

* * *

"Not too much longer," Santana promised Tina and Mercedes as she skated by their table. "There's so much competition for shifts here that it was easy to get someone to take the last few hours."

"We've got a ways to go, anyway," Tina said, and reached again into their bottomless order of french fries. Her sandwich was still only half-done, but she and Mercedes had worked up an appetite cruising the area like the shameless tourists they were. She'd easily finish it, her milkshake, and all the fries she might want. The difference between Los Angeles and home was starker than she'd anticipated. They were two worlds apart in the same country, and the low-slung, brightly-colored everything had eaten up enough of her attention that she was startled when Mercedes said it was time to return to Santana and Brittany's diner. Later would come the meeting with everyone back at Kurt's apartment, but although it was the official reason for their visit, she was enjoying wasting her time before they got to work.

"I don't know how you guys don't drop your trays everywhere," Mercedes said as she watched Brittany skate through the tables with a five-person order carried above her head.

Santana laughed. "After your first day you're responsible for covering any dropped plates. You learn fast."

Tina thought that sounded ridiculously unfair, but Santana seemed to enjoy her work despite the skimpy outfit and rollerskates. _And she must really love when she shares shifts with Brittany,_ she thought with a smirk when Santana turned to watch Brittany skate back to the kitchen. Her tanned thighs darted out from below her short skirt, and Santana didn't look away until she was around the corner and out of sight.

"Someone's got a crush," Mercedes sing-songed.

"It's not a crush," Santana said. "I'm going to marry her." Words rolled in her mouth like fine wine, and she said again, confident, "I am going to marry her."

Mercedes inclined her head just a hair toward the bar, where another employee was collecting several drinks to take to her tables. "Not you." Tina looked without turning her head and saw a woman their age there, who probably thought she was looking a lot less obviously at Santana than she was. Fit, attractive, and with a metric ton of makeup on, she reminded Tina of a lot of the women she'd seen in the area, but the bashful expression was new.

Without turning, Santana held up her tablet like she was going to take their order. "Latina?" she asked.

"Huh? Oh, yeah," Tina said.

Grimacing, Santana said, "I didn't realize she had a crush on me until the psychic told me. I guess it was obvious, looking back. She was trying to spend time with me and got touchy when I mentioned Brittany, and I really am a super hot piece of ass." Her mouth twisted. "I was trying to keep that out of sight until I got famous, though. I wonder how she knew I liked girls before I dumped Cooper. It hasn't been very long that we've been open with it."

Mercedes chortled as she reached for more fries. "You kidding? Have you seen yourself in the mirror when you look at Brittany? You are whipped."

The reminder that she was hardcore in love with Brittany Pierce seemed to outweigh any annoyance over her plan not quite working, and Santana smiled. "I gotta get back to work. Just be back here in a few hours, okay?" With their nod, she skated to the kitchen. The girl behind the counter watched her go.

"I bet she's not out," Mercedes speculated. "And then she sees Santana happy with who she is, with parents who might be like hers... it's no wonder."

"Lesbian role model," Tina agreed around an ungainly handful of fries. "She probably doesn't know whether she wants to be her or do her."

"Stop," Mercedes giggled, but trailed off when Brittany sailed back into view and made a dramatic stop at their table. "Hey, girl. What's up?"

She brandished her phone with a flourish. Puck's face was next to a text, but she slipped the phone away before they could read it. "Puck needs me to pick him up," Brittany whispered like someone might hear. "It sounds super important. I told Santana and she's getting someone to cover the rest of our shifts right now. Are you okay with missing out on your fun tourist day?" Tina nodded, as did Mercedes, and Brittany smiled. "Cool. Meet me out back."

Whatever was going on was either worrisome or exciting, and Tina nearly forgot to pay for the meal they were suddenly scarfing down. This was more what she had expected when lured into flying across the country with the promise of world-saving and heroics, rather than a morning spent wandering through vintage shops and sunlit record stores. In their collective rush to pay their bill and cover shifts and get on the road, Tina didn't fret about Finn and Mike, or a returning serial killer demon, or whatever might be going on with the threat they'd vaguely heard. She only bounced on her seat and thought about the immediate present. It was a nice change.

Santana and Brittany's young, graffiti-bright neighborhood melted into slick, expensive condos, and then grey streets similar to what they'd left at Kurt's. The freeway took them through poorer neighborhoods yet, boxy apartments shouldering between tiny suburban houses packed two or three to a lot and with bars over their windows. It was a long drive to Long Beach, and Tina had time to wonder about the millions of people they were passing. What were their lives like out here? She'd grown up under the watchful eye of superheroes, but she knew that Los Angeles lacked them compared to New York. Of course, it was also thankfully low on the superpowered threats that necessitated such protectors, but she'd always liked having heroes around. For children, parents were enough. With superheroes, even adults could feel like there was someone on their side, willing to give every last bit of themselves so that the people under their protection could see another day.

Putting it that way made her feel like she was a little bit ridiculous for even coming out there. How on earth were they supposed to be any sort of heroes? They didn't know who they were, like most anyone at their age. They weren't especially heroic. They could be selfish and impulsive and incredibly shallow. She was sitting in a car behind Santana, for god's sake. If there was one person on the planet who would never sacrifice even a single broken fingernail for the sake of others, it was Santana Lopez.

Deep in her thoughts, Tina barely noticed the shift from residential architecture to commercial, then industrial. When she did finally pay attention they were in a place just as grey as Kurt's neighborhood, but it was crowded with cranes and trucks and train lines. "This is the spot he told me," Brittany said uncertainly as she pulled into a parking lot. The four women went silent as they looked around. It was an off-putting setting, all big cars and stained pavement with razor wire around its fence. Some of the stains they saw, both on the ground and on vehicles, were an unfortunate rusty red. Though there was no guard station at its entrance, it screamed that any visitors were unwelcome. Her phone buzzed, and biting her lip, Brittany took the car out of park and drove further in. "He said to come up to that building," she explained as they approached a run-down warehouse.

"If some drug lord stole Puck's phone and is about to go all Taken on our asses, I'mma be pissed," Santana blustered.

_No, you'd be dead,_ Tina quietly corrected. It was a foolish thought, but this was the sort of place that sparked it.

When the door opened wide and something flew into the car, all four women screamed.

Puck stared at them. "Calm down."

"Shut up," Santana muttered as she yanked her seatbelt back into place. "I am calm."

"Yeah, you look ready to take a nap. Move over, Mulan. Move!" he said when Tina glared at him instead of moving. Although she wasn't happy about it, she scooted to the center spot. Normally she'd at least say something about the 'Mulan' joke, but Puck had called them there on an apparent emergency. Now that they'd picked him up in one of the more distasteful spots she'd ever had the misfortune to visit, he seemed ready to take off at a second's notice with whatever was in the canvas bag he'd thrown between them. "Drive!" he told Brittany as soon as the door was closed, and she sped back toward the road and the city to the north.

"What's with the timebomb?" Santana asked once they were out of Long Beach and Puck had started breathing easier. "You texted Brittany like half an hour ago. Were you worried that whatever you were carrying was only going to go off now, or what?"

"I just hoped no one would notice me." Now that they were away from his work, Puck's nerves were melting back into his typical grin. "It was the end of my shift anyway; I started at five. But I didn't want to take this on the subway."

Tina eyed the bag at her feet. "Puck, what's in there?"

"I sorta took something from a shipping crate."

All the women stared at him; after a second, Santana turned Brittany's face back in the direction of the road. "You stole from work?" Mercedes demanded. "Puck! We are not your accomplices!"

"We are now," Tina said.

"No, guys, it's fine," Puck said, and grabbed the bag from between Tina's knees. As soon as it was clear, she turned her whole body away from him and into Mercedes. "No one's going to notice this. Trust me, it's not on any manifests."

"So you took something that wasn't supposed to be there?" Santana asked doubtfully, and she, Tina, and Mercedes heard the truth behind that as soon as the words were out. "Oh my god, you stole something that was being smuggled into the country, weren't you? Great, Puck. Piss off the Colombian drug lords, or whoever."

"It was a ship from Japan, JLo, so calm down, I didn't piss off any Colombian drug lords." Just as Tina was about to relax, at least somewhat, he opened the bag to reveal a basketball-sized cache of pills that certainly looked like drugs to her. "Just Japanese ones, maybe."

"Oh my god, Puck stole from the Yakuza," Tina breathed.

"What's a Yakuza?" Puck asked. "No, it's fine, by the time anyone finds out about this we'll have everything taken care of." He saw the disbelieving looks he was still getting and said defensively, "Look, MGH isn't worth all that much. I checked. I asked some guys at work who deal, and most of them don't even like carrying the stuff because it's too much risk for the money."

"Great," Santana said. "So you left a trail."

Puck's jaw clenched. "So even if money wasn't an issue, which it wasn't gonna be, it would take us time to track down enough MGH for everyone. And time, we might not have. Because we have the radio on at work and I heard all about how we're heading into a freaking war. So yeah, I stole enough MGH to get us through whatever's coming up. Now we don't need to find more, and trust me, we are not going to be on the top of anyone's list for just this much of a drug that's not a huge seller."

"He might have a point," Brittany reluctantly said.

"Ugh," Santana said, and flopped against her seat.

In the back, next to Puck, Tina and Mercedes were far less forgiving. "What do you mean, enough to get us through?" Mercedes demanded. "What is MGH, and why do you think we're going to be doing drugs?"

"I am not taking illegal drugs!" Tina said. "I tried pot once at my old school and I spent the whole rest of the day freaking out that my parents would be able to smell it on me." And it had been in a brownie. She wasn't cut out for a hard life of crime.

"It's not a big deal," Puck said, and popped one into his mouth despite their protests. "All five of us have been downing it and there's no problem, okay?"

"And," Santana said lightly, "Puck just agreed to serve as our guinea pig for this batch, to make sure it's not going to cause any new problems."

"Yeah. Wait, what?"

She smirked and turned around. "Surprise. We've all gotten superpowers thanks to the wonders of modern science, and you're going to come along for the ride. The world is in danger. We need to find four things that shouldn't exist and break them, and then use some magical rope to pull on a magical anchor, and then we're going to get back to a world where Brit and I have our own television show and Kurt's living the high life over Central Park. So buckle up, because you're about to get powered up."

"That was a nice speech," Brittany said.

"Thanks, I've been practicing. I was thinking we'd do it at the apartment, but I guess Puck kind of blew our cover."

"It's stupid to think we can get superpowers from a pill," Mercedes said hesitantly, backed into the corner of seat and car door.

"Pill," Santana demanded, and Puck passed her one. After a few silent miles of freeway rolled by, she snapped her fingers and a dancing flame appeared above her palm. A broad smile painted her face as she took in Tina and Mercedes' shock. "We're superheroes. And you're going to be, too, because I really want my own show."

"And to save the world," Brittany reminded her.

"And that."

"Kurt's been eating these like Tic Tacs," Puck pointed out as he held the bag up to Tina and Mercedes. "Guys, it's fine."

"How much would this bag cost?" Tina asked. Her stomach was doing uncomfortable flip flops, but all she could think of was of those dead mutants and kidnapped girls. Her friends had filled her in on their investigation and hearing it all at once had been overwhelming. Superpowers could have stopped that long killer before the attack on the coffee shop. X-Factor hadn't stopped it, no, but they hadn't been looking in the right place. They could have saved so many lives....

Puck shrugged. "The guy said maybe two hundred."

Good enough. They weren't about to be hunted down for two hundred measly dollars. "Tina!" Mercedes screeched as Tina dry-swallowed a pill.

"He said Kurt's been taking them," Tina said. The two of them hardly trusted Brittany or Santana or Puck, and Finn was... complicated. But they were both friends with Kurt, and he was even less willing to buck the system on some things than they were. If he was downing them, it was nothing to worry about overly much. 

"I don't know," Mercedes fretted. She saw them all about to open their mouths for a new argument and, with a fierce impulse, grabbed one and swallowed it. "I just did that so you wouldn't ask me what's the worst that could happen," she said in warning. "So don't even think about pulling it out now."

The worst that did happen was that Tina tried her new powers at a stoplight and managed to drain the car's battery on the road, but they were only three blocks from Kurt's. They could handle that much.

* * *

Blaine remembered public schools, but his never had this particular smell.

Considering that he was visiting William McKinley High School in the summer, without all but a few stray students present, that was quite an accomplishment. Whatever was causing that strange aroma must be sunk deep in all the tiles and the drywall. It smelled like cheese and despair.

Still, he'd dressed nicely. Light fabric for summer, but he'd chosen an outfit with layers and a tie and that needed ironing. He had absolutely no right to do what he was doing, and looking like he wasn't some hooligan off the streets would probably help him on his quest.

His quest that he still couldn't believe he'd accepted. Certainly, the largest driving force was shutting up Cooper. His brother had always either gotten his way or forgotten about things and abandoned them, and unfortunately this sounded like column A. If he didn't do this favor for Cooper after barely speaking with him in years, he'd hear about it for months following Cooper's Thanksgiving-or-Christmas visit. It wouldn't be Cooper doing the guilting, no; he'd mention it in passing and then their parents would hound Blaine about how much Cooper had done for him as his big brother, and how he should really return the favor now. Some relationships looked very different from the inside.

While that was the biggest driver, what had really pushed him over the edge into active curiosity was talking with that boy on the phone. Everything Kurt had said sounded ridiculous. He was panicky and too chatty and not terribly believable, especially when he started blathering about how the two of them used to date and, for all he knew, could have ended up married. It could have come across as unhinged and dangerous, and perhaps it should have been. Kurt had sounded so convinced, though, and his lack of Cooper knowledge was the ironic stamp of truth on the whole deal.

Besides, after Sebastian, Blaine was willing to entertain the words of an unhinged but nice-sounding boy who wanted to blather harmlessly about dating him. Being stabbed in the back after being... stabbed in other ways certainly colored one's view of the world, and he needed to stop making classless jokes like that, even to himself. It was a Sebastian sort of thing to do.

A quick round of googling had turned up plenty of information on some of the names Kurt had texted him that morning, while other people didn't seem to exist at all, or were in different places than Kurt anticipated. Sure enough, Jesse St. James was still a graduated star performer from the Vocal Adrenaline juggernaut, but no one named Shelby Corcoran had ever been associated with it. He'd found one mention of a Shelby Corcoran living in New York, but it had been drowned out by real estate listings by Shelby Winters working for Corcoran Realty. It probably wasn't even her.

Shannon Beiste was listed on their faculty page, but Sue Sylvester wasn't the cheerleading coach at McKinley. Some woman named Peggy Harmon was. As Blaine rounded a corner, he heard music pounding down the hall and a smile spread across his face. It sounded like someone was working out or practicing to Hands High, one of the biggest pop hits of the year, by that show on the Disney Channel. Yes, the lyrics were terrible; lots of repetitive lines about being happy, holding your head and hands high, and letting everyone seeing you dance your cares away. It was exactly the sort of pablum one would expect from a show aimed at tweens, and yet it was incredibly catchy. Even Rolling Stone had admitted that no song on the radio could make a person happier when they'd been forced to confront its relentless march to number one.

The Warblers had actually used it in their Nationals playlist, but they couldn't capture the same smile-causing magic that those Disney stars could. Part of the heat Blaine had taken after their loss (but still respectable placing) was that they had chosen to sing a song aimed at pre-teens with such ridiculous lyrics, even though it was a multiplatinum hit that every other person had been on board for. Even with those memories, his smile didn't vanish. It was impossible to listen to this song and not be happy.

The coach was probably using that to her benefit, he saw as he peeked around the door, because the routine from these cheerleaders wasn't going to win any prizes. Maybe the song would keep the audience in a good enough mood that no one would start throwing popcorn at them. Blaine stuck around for another few bars, and then walked on in search of the principal's office.

"Mr. Figgins?" he asked, knocking on the door to the inner office. The receptionist wasn't around, but when he'd called earlier, she'd said that the principal would be around for the full day even if she would only be there for a half shift. Hearing that this Figgins character was around school all summer, planted in his desk all day, did make Blaine worry a little. A responsible administrator probably wouldn't help him like he wanted.

"Hello," said Figgins, a wary smile on his face. He stood and tugged his suit jacket into place. "Mr. Roth?"

"Mr. Anderson," Blaine corrected. "I mean, Blaine Anderson. Blaine. You don't need to call me mister."

"You are not the IRS agent who called me yesterday about my boat?"

He hesitated. "No."

Beaming, Figgins gestured to a seat in front of his desk. "Mr. Anderson! Welcome. How may I answer your questions related to the banking or insurance industries?"

Perhaps he'd overdressed for visiting this particular school. The principal really didn't seem accustomed to a student wearing anything nicer than a t-shirt and jeans by choice. "I'm actually a student," Blaine said. Figgins looked startled. "I'm hoping to ask you for a little information about some students here. And some faculty."

Although Figgins was acting outright starstruck, Blaine noticed that all of the man's attention wasn't on him, but on his suit jacket. This was clearly a man who appreciated good tailoring and someone willing to put up with it in the August heat. "Are you transferring to McKinley?" Figgins asked. "You wish to know about our excellent faculty and student body?"

What? Oh, this could actually work to his benefit. "I'm considering it," Blaine said carefully. "Yes, that's why I'd like to ask about people."

With that, the vault was opened. Figgins happily spilled all the information Blaine wanted to know in the hopes that he might be able to get his first-ever student who didn't think that Brooks Brothers was a Nashville act. Emma Pillsbury had married Ken Tanaka and moved away. Will Schuester was visiting Columbus, rumor had it, on the urging of his wife who might get that accountant's salary she wanted out of him. _Quite a change,_ Blaine thought. The little note next to Schuester had said that he was a choir director. He wasn't sure if that made Kurt's list, supposedly taken from another world or timeline, more or less believable.

Most of the students he mentioned were recent graduates or had never attended McKinley, like Matt Rutherford. "Samuel Evans," Figgins said, nodding as he typed the name into his computer. This was a ridiculous breach of protocol and no responsible educator should be providing this information, but Figgins was clearly not a responsible educator. Blaine kept his mouth shut and let the information flow. He wasn't exactly a good spy, but he didn't need to be; he just needed to be a mute figure in a lucky suit. "We transferred his student files to a district in Kentucky."

"Which district?" Blaine risked asking. This would probably get him cut off, but that was fine. He'd gone through nearly every name by now, and except for a few returning seniors like Ben Israel, most of those leads were probably not worth chasing.

"Let me print this out for you," Figgins said. "That way, you may get in touch with Mr. Evans and use him as a testimonial for our school."

Now Blaine really wasn't sure if this man was easily impressed, an idiot, or both.

"Thank you," he said as he collected all the information that Figgins eventually printed out for him, and began to rise. Hesitating, he sank back down and asked, "Have you heard of anyone named Sue Sylvester? I heard that she taught here." With her obviously not being the cheerleading coach any more, he'd avoided probing about her, but if such an open book sat in front of him it seemed silly not to ask.

"Sylvester, Sylvester... no, I don't believe so." Figgins frowned and began searching through a database of state employees. "You are sure she taught at McKinley?"

"I heard she was a teacher," Blaine said noncommittally as Figgins dug deeper into the government database. 

"I am sorry," Figgins eventually said, "but I find no record of Susan Sylvester as an educator in the state of Ohio. I hope this doesn't affect your transfer decision."

"It doesn't," Blaine said with complete honesty, and stood. "Thank you for your help."

Really, all of this was ridiculous, Blaine told himself on the drive home, when the adrenaline from his unexpectedly fruitful day had faded. There was absolutely nothing to say that he hadn't gotten caught up in some ridiculous Hollywood experiment. For all he knew, Cooper had signed them both up for a new reality show without his knowledge or consent, and he was being filmed right now as he bought into the idea that a bunch of strangers needed to save the world and he'd dated one of them, sort of. How dissatisfied did he need to be with his life to be willing to jump onto _this_ silly of a story? There was no way that Principal Figgins was a real principal. He had to be an actor willing to go along with this tale.

Really, things were fine. Senior year would be tiresome, but he was well-positioned to go to school in New York after that, just like he'd always planned. He'd gone to movies with friends and he and his father had managed a few bonding sessions over the golf lessons he'd always wanted Blaine to take. (He hoped that Blaine would do something with a CEO to answer to, not an audience. Still, golf was enjoyable just for its own sake. And there were great wardrobe options there.)

Yet, when he got home, he found himself going straight upstairs to type the information he'd gotten into a longer file to send to the email address Kurt had provided. _This is ridiculous. So why am I still doing it?_ he wondered as he pushed open the door to his room and saw his destroyed laptop on the far desk.

Blaine froze in shock as the crackling screen snapped to life. An unknown woman's voice said, "I don't know why you're asking about me or who leaked my information, but I hunt down my foes and silence them like a bloodhound crossed with a doberman pinscher, trained by Tony Soprano. You're messing with cosmic forces, here."

"Cosmic forces?" Blaine repeated, befuddled and more than a little scared. Who was this woman and why was his laptop smoking? Wait. His laptop was smoking! He jolted into action and yanked the power cord from the wall, then closed it and flipped it over only to find the screwheads there flush with the bottom. The overheating battery soon had his scrambling fingers aching. He smelled a more harshly metallic scent just before something caught fire.

Pitching his laptop through his closed window was not the best decision Blaine Anderson had ever made in his life. At least it had landed on the bare driveway, he thought with a wince as it burned itself out, rather than on the lawn.

_Was this a TV show? Would they really do this much?_ he wondered as he looked out his broken window. Everything in his mind said this was ridiculous, and had to be one of Cooper's ideas. Everything in his heart said something far bigger was going on.

It might be another bad idea, and it took longer on a phone screen than a laptop, but Blaine started typing.


	13. Countdown to Launch

"Hi," said the boy at the door, and extended his hand. "We haven't met."

Lauren Zizes raised her eyebrow and didn't return the greeting. Whoever this was, he was dressed like old pictures of her grandpa. She preferred her men in tight t-shirts. Or nothing. "Nope, we definitely haven't."

After a beat, his hand dropped. It was a shame; it was attached to a nice arm. A t-shirt would be better. "I'm Blaine."

"That's not a name, that's a major appliance," she immediately replied. His lips thinned and she smiled. "Heard that one before?"

"Just a few times."

"Okay, so are you here to talk about how Jesus Christ is my lord and savior or what?"

Confusion painted him, and then Blaine sighed and drooped his shoulders. "I need to stop wearing outfits like this into this town, apparently. No, someone asked me to come talk to you, because... actually, I'm not sure how to say this. I should have rehearsed it."

_Huh,_ Lauren thought as she folded her arms. He seemed harmless enough: polite and in the sizable section of the population that she could lock down into a wrestling hold without too much fuss. There was no denying that her visitor was weird, but something about the weirdness was so inoffensive that she was more intrigued than annoyed. "Well, come inside. We're letting all the A/C out."

Although clearly surprised at being invited inside by a stranger, Blaine entered with more trust than was wise. She was a stranger to him too, after all. Even so, he seemed to remain focused on whatever had brought him there in the first place. That worked to his benefit, as it kept him from commenting on what a mess Lauren's house was. They were using the excuse of her heading to school in a few weeks to clean and organize, and boxes and trash bags were everywhere. If she hadn't been so sick of digging through closets, Lauren might well have just ignored the doorbell. "Okay," she said when she'd cleared two seats and they were settled. "So, why _are_ you here?"

In fits and starts, with a lot of circuitous addendums and personal grudges against his big brother, he told her. There were people who supposedly needed to save the world and, in another timeline or dimension, all these weirdos thought they knew the two of them. "I didn't believe them, either," Blaine said at the end, when Lauren still looked unconvinced. "But something that Kurt said, he just... he understood me. I believe him."

"So because you're all mopey-eyed over this California boy, I'm supposed to get on board with helping a bunch of strangers save the world?" Lauren asked flatly. It wasn't that she didn't believe that such a story might be generally true; she'd seen the skies open with alien invasions and watched special reports on villainous weapons gone wrong in the middle of New York. Getting two kids from Ohio involved in the middle of such a tale, though, was ridiculous. It sounded like someone had become bored at the end of a long summer and launched some sort of elaborate prank.

"I... what?" he asked, startled.

"Oh, come on. I could tell you don't swing my way because I'm in a tank top and not once have you checked out my rockin' tatas. Which is fine," Lauren added. "You're not my type, anyway. I'm headed to Milwaukee for a reason, you know? Beers and a big game: bring it on. And. Well." She gestured at him.

"Do you think the Bengals will make the AFC playoffs?" Blaine asked. "I think we both know the Browns have no shot."

Lauren hesitated at the clear throwing of the gauntlet. It didn't take any football knowledge to call the Browns an embarrassment, but referring to them both offhand as AFC teams spoke of someone who followed the sport, at least a little. "Who's your pick for NFC champ?" she asked neutrally.

"I always like the Packers, but it'd be a great comeback story for the Niners to make it through after that playoff loss last year."

Her eyes narrowed. "Who do you like better: Cowboys or Oilers?"

He grinned at the simple trick. "Well, the Oilers have been the Titans for ages, so you must be talking hockey. And on that, I'm sure you've got me beat."

Leaning back, Lauren studied him. All right; she could accept this dweeby-dressed guy with his delusions of superhero grandeur. Truth be told, she didn't know exactly what he wanted of her, but at the very least she had to respect that he was a little more grounded than he'd appeared when he showed up at her doorstep in a bow tie. "Okay, I'm going to ask two questions and I want honest, full answers."

"All right."

"One: seriously, are you crushing on this dude in California?"

Blaine sputtered, "I've never met him and I don't even know what he looks like! It's completely... fine. He sounded nice and he said that the two of us were practically ready to get married in another world, and I'm still smarting from an incredibly awful breakup. Yes. A little. Maybe. Not much."

At least he'd admitted it. She couldn't blame him for a teenage crush on some far-off guy in L.A.; she had her fair share of celebrity magazine pages still taped to her bedroom wall. It did mean that his big world-saving goal might be a little less vital to the future of humanity, though, and a lot more vital to him getting his rocks off. "Two: what exactly are we supposed to be doing to help them?"

"Talking to people and seeing changes in the world from what they can remember. Going other places, if need be." Blaine finished carefully, "There's one other person that I'm really supposed to talk to, and he's in Kentucky. I have his address and he'll be easy to find. If you just—"

"And we've found my limit," Lauren announced. "Sorry. I am not driving to another state with someone I just met so that you can talk to someone else you've never met before, all so you can impress some other dude you've never met."

"I'm completely safe," Blaine protested.

"I am not worried that I would be in danger. I am worried that this is all stupid, and I'm busy getting ready for college." Lauren shrugged. "Seriously, listen to yourself."

For nearly a minute, they sat in silence. If his face hadn't been such an open book, Lauren might have loudly suggested an end to their meeting and a return to her boring cleaning work. She could read every emotion as it passed, though, and it made for interesting viewing. "Nothing has really worked out right like I hoped for," Blaine finally said. "I've had a lot of good times in my life, and I have a lot of advantages. I realize that. But sometimes I've gotten my hopes up for something huge, and it never works out right."

"So you want to get on board with their world-saving so that it can flop again?" Lauren asked dryly.

"I just... don't ever want to give up on the idea of trying. And after what I've seen, this is something huge and I would be giving up if I didn't give it a shot. I believe that everything he said is true, and important." Blaine bit his lip and hesitated. "I think the government was spying on me and destroyed my laptop so I wouldn't be able to help Kurt."

Right. "And I think it's time I got back to work."

"Thanks," he said after a short pause, and stood. "If you already thought that I was crazy, and you clearly do, then talking about the government spying on me was probably one step too far?"

"Got it in one," Lauren said, and cocked a finger gun at him. "Nice meeting you, though," she said as she showed Blaine to the door. "I'm actually not being sarcastic. I hate cleaning and this was a really entertaining break from it. Good luck getting that boy you've never seen to fall in love, I'm sure it'll go super-smooth."

"Thanks," Blaine said tiredly as the door shut in his face.

Well, that was a fun interlude. Chuckling to herself, Lauren managed two more Goodwill trips before her parents returned from work. They ordered pizza, chatted about their days (Lauren left out her visitor), and had a pleasant evening with reasonable bedtimes.

When Lauren woke in the middle of the night with something plastered over her mouth and a gun barrel in her face, it took her a few seconds to realize that she wasn't dreaming. "If you don't move," said the blonde woman just visible in the darkness, "then I won't be forced to use this."

Lauren laid very still. Her heart jackhammered in her chest.

"I don't know what sort of racket you have going on here in Hooterville, but no one gives me the runaround. Are you trying to sell my information to the Russians? The Latverians? Susan Sarandon?"

Despite herself, Lauren boggled at the woman. It was for the best that she was gagged.

"We've had words. Strong words." The blonde woman leaned in closer, her eyes mere slits. "Never mind. I can see that you're only a pawn in this game of black ops chess, and your school principal is the grand master." Lauren couldn't help it; she laughed thickly behind her gag. The woman frowned and wiggled her gun, as if Lauren needed a reminder of the hot lead aimed at her forehead. "Talk, Shrek."

Glaring, Lauren pointed at the tape across her mouth.

The woman huffed in annoyance. "If you call for help, I will pull this trigger. I not only have a license to kill, but I have a monthly quota." Lauren gestured again and the woman ripped off the tape in a flash of pain.

"Principal Figgins couldn't mastermind a game of Candy Land. You know what our senior prank was? We drove him to Muncie and left him there. And he got in the car when we asked."

The woman's brow furrowed. "Then it's the prep school boy whose porn directory I fried."

"Harsh. And I doubt it. He was pretty clueless, too. It was someone else giving him the 411." Lauren risked propping herself up on one elbow. Once the initial rush of fear faded, it became clear that if this woman were going to shoot her, she would have done so at the beginning of this home invasion. By the time she was willing to risk Lauren getting her voice back, things were well back into a safety zone. "Wait, so was everything he was telling me real, or...?"

The gun poked her right between the eyes, and fear surged again. "Listen to me, Grand Slam," the woman hissed. "Forget you heard anything. You are going to stay in this house like the obedient little Walmart shopper that you are, and proceed living your pathetic flyover life full of pizza deliveries and trips to Muncie. Don't mess with the lion if you don't want the claws."

Lauren wasn't sure what part of that was the most offensive, but she was very sure that she disliked this woman like she had disliked few other people in her life. "Don't mess with the Zizes if you don't want a piece of these," she replied, and slammed her fist into her open palm.

"That's terrible," the woman said. "The meter's all off." Then she fired.

The next morning, Lauren groggily rolled over and winced when she felt something sharp. Fumbling at whatever insect was biting her, she instead found what appeared to be a large wooden splinter jammed into the tender underside of her wrist. No, not wood; it was some sort of high-tech plastic with a hollow core that crumbled as she pulled it loose. Soon there was nothing but a tiny red dot to show that the woman had ever fired a second, smaller weapon, unnoticed in the dark. _Wait_ , Lauren thought, and put a hand to her swimming head. _What woman?_ Even as she grabbed for her memories of the night before, they slipped away like melting snow. If not for the tranquilizer sliver that hadn't quite broken apart during the night like it was probably supposed to, she would have written off the entire thing as a dream.

Instead, it was a half-remembered shadow of a soldier in the room, a gun, fear, and orders to go on with her life. Stay where she was. Ignore what she'd heard.

Yes, that was right.

That woman had insulted Lauren, and then told her what she was _allowed_ to do.

Sitting up, Lauren rubbed her punctured skin and frowned. For perhaps five seconds she debated the meaning of everything, but her pride soon won out. _No one tells me what to do_ , Lauren thought as she got on her computer and searched for a name on Facebook. "Hey, Major Appliance," she typed, and again wondered just how big of John Hughes fans his parents were. People should just have kickass normal names. Like Lauren. "Where in Kentucky?"

* * *

There really wasn't any easy way to tell your friends that everything had started during an accidental encounter with a dinosaur.

On the long drive home, Puck realized two things. One: that he thought of that crummy apartment as 'home,' now, because it was where Kurt was. It was a rock rising from a life's sea of casual relationships, friendly and familial and romantic. Two: that it was going to be freaking hard to sell their friends on some of the details of what needed to happen next. Mercedes and Tina had reluctantly accepted MGH as a superpower substitute when he'd shoved his stolen bag in their faces, but would Mike, Quinn, and Artie? Would they all buy into their giant quest to find four things that shouldn't exist? (Hell, there were a lot of things that shouldn't exist. Puck could walk down any street in the city and point to four horrors of plastic surgery. Could a bad nosejob be a seal?) And worst of all, would they agree to let Finn Hutton rip band-aids off their brains?

Hopefully, the New Yorkers would say yes. They'd told them they'd gotten memories back from Finn, after all, and the group had flown out there with that knowledge. Right? They probably would agree. Maybe. It was still going to be hard to start with a story about a dinosaur, though.

At least they'd avoided any problems with running out of MGH, Puck thought as Tina, flush with her new powers, accidentally killed the car as it sat at a light. He was so smart, sometimes. Sure, he nearly started pushing the car out of traffic himself, until Santana told him to stop before he showed everyone around them that he could lift tons. But he'd already had a good idea for the day, dammit; on balance, it was a good showing for him. The four of them working together was unremarkable, even if Puck was the one truly pushing the rustbucket all the way to Kurt's parking lot while Brittany pretended to steer.

"I like Venice better," Mercedes said dryly as they rolled Brittany's car into place. "We were doing tourist stuff there today."

Puck ignored her and hurried up the metal stairs to the second floor, assuming they'd follow. He didn't like having his bag of MGH out in the open, even though he logically knew that no passer-by could possibly know what was weighing it down. By the time the girls reached the door, he'd turned the locks. "I think Finn's trying to woo Tina," Artie said as Puck entered, swirling the word around his mouth. Rolling aside, he gestured to a far side of the apartment. A card table, stained and scraped, was set up against a blank wall near the kitchen. Mismatched chairs flanked it and a single candle burned at its center. Puck recognized that smell.

"Did he pick up mosquito candles at the dollar store or something?" Puck wondered as he shrugged off the thick canvas jacket that he had to wear at work, even in the heat.

Finn, still indoors in his sunglasses like the ridiculous dork he was, looked up from the couch. "Yeah, why?" In a delayed reaction, he noticed the people behind Puck and bounded to his feet. "Tina!" Drawn like iron filings to a magnet, everyone else looked to Mike. He slouched and turned away from the reunion of the two lovers.

"Hey, baby," Tina said, still with a thin film of nerves. (Puck wished that the chicks would relax about the bag in his hand, now that they were indoors. His MGH plan was foolproof.) But when she got on her toes and leaned in to kiss Finn, he turned away like her affection had gone unnoticed and she was left gawking.

Puck frowned at Finn. "Why _are_ you still wearing those sunglasses inside?"

Freezing for a second, Finn shot a wary glance to Kurt, and then straightened and said, "Because I'm cool."

"Right, because he's cool," Kurt echoed. His hands clenched and unclenched, and something about his wire-tight attitude kept Puck from sweeping him into a welcome-home kiss.

The rest of the room looked unconvinced, and they gave the brothers odd looks as they let themselves be guided to the enormous couch. The newcomers from New York were steered to one section of the U-shaped seating, and the other half of the group sat opposite from them. Then, awkwardness reigned until Santana stepped forward to be the one to catch everyone up. "...So if we can find these things and fix them, then we'll be back in that world where everything's perfect," she finished when she'd run through the main points of their psychic-assigned duties. 

"Wait," Artie said. "I don't know if I like the idea of our big heroic story being... running away to another world." At least he wasn't complaining about the dinosaur.

"But everything's better there," Santana repeated slowly, like he hadn't heard her. "I have my own TV show."

Looks were exchanged between all of the New Yorkers, even Mike and Tina. "Here's the thing," Mike said. Everything about him spoke of someone unaccustomed to challenging a group, and yet he continued regardless. "We just stopped this mutant murderer who was also kidnapping girls. And he killed a shopkeeper, too. The guy didn't do anything to him, and he killed him."

Impressed, Brittany said, "Wow, you stopped an evil mutant? That's awesome. How did you get powers to do it?"

"No, we didn't stop 'an evil mutant,'" Artie corrected. "We stopped some evil thing that was murdering mutants. Quinn and Mercedes did, actually. They kicked booty."

The girls smiled at each other, but sobered quickly. "It was an amazing feeling," Mercedes said. "We went into Mutant Town and we met some mutants that... they were so mad, you guys. They were mad at the whole world, and you know what? They have a right to be, and that makes me mad, too. I liked helping people that everyone else forgets about."

"Helping them made me feel like I was doing something important with my life," Quinn added. "I flew out here wanting to do something important."

Puck's group of five faltered. He didn't need Finn's telepathy running between them to recognize the thoughts in others' heads. 'Saving the world' was, as yet, still undefined to them. At most, they might help tamp down something related to the brewing war, but no obvious paths to that had yet shown themselves. Their whole sales pitch rested on the idea of _saving_ this other world where they had superpowers and wild success, and said success would be enough of a lure on its own. Santana and Brittany were TV stars. Kurt was a high-paid secret agent. What possible reason could anyone have for not wanting to go back to that sort of life?

"You said that thing was kidnapping girls?" Kurt slowly asked, staring at a spot between his feet. He looked up, gaze sharp, and nodded when they replied in the affirmative. "All right. Do you want to do something important here, then? Right now? To remember what it can be like with powers?"

"Maybe," Quinn said, hesitant.

"I... disposed of a dangerous substance just a day or two ago," Kurt said in the careful tone of someone trying to bend the truth. Oh. He was talking about when he found a dumpster for that leftover cocaine. Puck bit the inside of his cheek so that he wouldn't give away the game with a smirk. "It reminded me of what using my powers is like. There's something we all could be doing that I don't think would be too dangerous, hopefully, but it would give all of us the chance to remember being heroes."

"They still haven't found them?" Finn asked when Kurt fell silent, and Kurt shook his head.

"I've mentioned the show I work for, right?" he began, and Tina groaned.

"With the music that will not get out of my head?"

"That'd be it. Well, the twins have been missing since last night. It's coming up on twenty-four hours, now, and as far as I've heard...." Kurt's expression fell further. "No one's contacted Disney or the production company for any sort of ransom. Which could mean that if they've been taken, it's not because of how much they could be worth."

"You mean, they were taken for _them_ ," Artie supplied, mouth twisted in distaste. Them. Their bodies. "How old are they?"

"They just turned thirteen. Just... they _just_ turned thirteen." Kurt's voice choked. Despite often being hesitant to show affection around others, he let Puck pull him against his side. "I didn't care when I first heard that Juniper was missing, because she's so awful. She's just... she is, she's horrible, but she's thirteen years old and someone dangerous might have her. And Sky is the sweetest little girl you'll ever meet. I think of anyone doing anything to her and I just want to throw up." Although one tear trickled down his cheek, his eyes were clear and skin even. It didn't look like the ugly crying Puck had sometimes seen him do, and he wondered if Kurt was acting to get their friends on board. If so, it was a slick move; they seemed to be buying it.

When no one spoke, Kurt continued in that gasp-halting voice, "I wasn't really worried this morning because I thought they'd find them right away. But they haven't. It's been hours and they haven't. And the longer it goes on, the more likely it is that... World War III might start and I might get drafted, and I don't even care, because all I can do is wonder what some pervert is doing to a pair of thirteen year old girls. The more I think about it, the worse it gets. And at first, I didn't even care." His voice broke on the last word, and Puck pulled him even closer and dropped a kiss into his hair. Hearing Kurt hate himself like that was terrible, and it was like he had no idea what a guiding star he could be. Once they were past the harshness of this world and back into their better selves in the hidden one, Kurt Hutton (or Hummel?) was easily one of the most heroic people that Puck had ever met, and most willing to give of himself. He hoped Kurt didn't beat himself up too much.

"I think we've got our 'something important,' guys," Quinn said into the silence. "All right. Do what you need to do to give us back our powers, Finn."

"Actually," Finn said as Brittany rummaged through her purse and passed over a well-crumpled plastic baggie, "I'll just give you back your memories. These'll give you back your powers, for three to four hours. Doubling up on pills just makes you stronger, it doesn't make it last any longer. And I guess... I need to take another one," he said. Although Kurt didn't turn wholly away from Puck, he did look at his brother, who hesitated before swallowing the pill.

"Is it safe?" Artie asked, rolling one pill between his fingers. "What powers will I get?"

"It's totally safe," Puck assured him. "We've all been taking it. You'll get whatever powers you're supposed to have in that other world. Right, guys?" Brittany and Santana nodded impatiently and agreed; Finn and Kurt echoed them a beat later, quieter. With shared glances and encouraging nods, particularly from the girls who had already tried MGH on the drive back from Long Beach, they all swallowed.

"All right," Mercedes said into the following silence. "Do it, Finn."

Light dawned in everyone's eyes, moving in a slow path across their friends. First Artie, then Quinn, then Mike. Turning the corner, memories returned to Mercedes and Tina. All gasped for breath. They sat in silent shock, and probably would have stayed there if Finn hadn't immediately crouched in front of the girl that this false world had turned into an almost accidental partner. "You're really great and all and you have awesome boobs but if you don't get back with Mike then I'm going to be really sad so I'm dumping you and please sit on his lap now, thanks okay." Scooping her up, he sat Tina on Mike's legs before either could protest.

"Do I get a girlfriend as part of this whole package?" Artie asked, although the humor was a weak cover for the shock of their recovered memories. Puck remembered that feeling. At least none of them had come close to waving their cocks around in a West Hollywood nightclub over a love that he hadn't even wanted to admit.

"Go have dinner," Finn told the reunited couple without missing a beat. "Look, there's a table and I made spaghetti and you two can be like Lady and the Tramp. There's something else we need to talk about, anyway, so we can't save the girls or the world just yet."

"You cooked?" Mercedes asked suspiciously.

"Finn bothered me until I cooked," Kurt said.

"Oh. Go ahead and eat," Mercedes told the would-be couple.

Mike's cheeks blazed red as Tina cleared her throat. "Could we get...?"

"Privacy!" Finn said, and began hustling people outside. Amused, Puck let himself be guided. When he reached for Kurt's hand, Kurt pulled away. As quickly as it appeared, Puck's frown vanished; they were a crush of people heading toward the door, and going through as a pair would be awkward. But when they were through, Kurt still wrapped his arms around himself and stepped well off to the side. After glancing at the newcomers as they confirmed their reawakened memories with each other, Puck followed him.

"Hey," he murmured. "Everything okay? Not just with the girls, because that's obviously crap. But is something else wrong?"

"I... it's fine," Kurt lied. His eyes flickered toward the knot of New Yorkers and his voice quieted further. "Don't freak out, because Finn and I already looked it up, and it's temporary."

"Okay," Puck said, trying to hide how much he'd instantly started freaking out. Was Kurt sick? Had something bad happened? 

"The MGH has... side effects. They're not terrible, but if people found out, they might not want to take it."

"Side effects?" Puck repeated. "I haven't seen any side effects."

"No, it's just Finn and me so far. And you've seen how much we've been taking. Believe me," Kurt sighed, "you'd know if it happened."

"Are you all right?" Puck asked. His stomach still burned. The idea of Kurt going through some sort of nebulous _side effect_ from an illegal and famously weird drug had him tied in knots he hadn't known he could make. If loving someone had once felt like the worst thing in the world, being worried about that love was a hundred times more intense. 

"I...." Kurt swallowed. "I look different."

Puck studied him: slightly tilted eyes the color of a spring storm, lean body, chestnut hair so thick he could probably spare enough to cover the rest of Puck's scalp. Like always, he looked flawless except for those few imperfections that Puck guarded with a fierce, irrational love. Well, if he looked the same where Puck could see him....

Kurt slapped away Puck's fingers when they tugged at the waistband of his pants. "We are outside, Noah Puckerman," he hissed. Collecting himself, he said, "I'm illusioned right now. I look the same except that I'm pale."

Puck raised an eyebrow.

"...Paler. And Finn's eyes are glowing. All the time, not just when he's using his powers."

Oh. Almost grumpily, Puck's stomach unknotted. Was that all? Kurt had him worried for the worst, and all the MGH had done to him was gotten rid of even his slight Los Angeles tan? "Don't freak me out like that," he said, and kissed Kurt perhaps a little too hard. "I don't care if you look like Casper for a while. You had me thinking you were going to turn into a giant rock mutant or something, then croak."

"Do you think I could turn into a giant rock mutant?" Kurt whispered in sudden fear, and Puck rolled his eyes, still a little irritated that Kurt had gotten him to worry about something so much bigger than the truth. He didn't care at all if Kurt looked a little different, but Kurt falling over dead from MGH would probably see Puck following him, as little as he liked to admit that. It might come from driving too fast or picking the wrong fight on purpose, but it would come. If Kurt was his compass, he knew he could get lost without him. He'd been worried for all of that potential future in those few tense seconds, and instead Kurt was _pale._ Fuck.

Still, Kurt was upset over this and the girls, and so Puck tamped down his temper. "You said you looked up MGH side effects. Did they say anything about turning into a giant rock mutant?" he asked, and Kurt shook his head. "There, you see? We're fine. But you were right to hide it. We'll just keep this between us until everyone's taken the pills, and then they can see you and Finn. That way they'll know that even if there are side effects, it's nothing big. Okay?" He kissed Kurt on the forehead, who let him, blessedly. "Things'll work out, and we'll find the girls. Even the bitchy one."

"She's thirteen, Puck, you shouldn't call her that."

"You did, coming home from work once." Seeing that Kurt was in no mood to be reminded of his old reaction to the girls, Puck let his words fade and turned. Behind them, Finn, Santana, and Brittany were filling in the rest of the group on the last element needed before they could save the world, according to their handy psychic: the last of their group of friends. Rachel. The discussion had moved on without them.

"It's simple," Quinn said. "If she's not going to leave London because she's determined to become a star there, then we'll tell her that her true success will be here in Los Angeles."

"And she'll buy that?" Artie asked doubtfully.

"She will when we tell her that we have a new musical all lined up for her, and that they want to audition her for the lead role." 

Hope surged in Puck. Quinn was right: Rachel was nuts about the chance to take any lead, whether it was for a performance or organizing a party. God, he loved Quinn sometimes, and that scheming sneaky leader type that she could pull out. Forget getting married to whatever guy her parents wanted to hitch her to; she was destined to cause trouble in all the best ways. But, even as he smiled at the idea along with Brittany and Finn, others were shaking their heads and finding problems that he'd never thought of.

"Plays fall apart all the time," Kurt pointed out. Wiping away one last tear, he focused on the new topic at hand. "Would she really fly out here for something still in pre-production?" Although Quinn didn't always take her ideas being questioned, she accepted that criticism and began thinking rather than arguing. With so many months since they'd been in school, Puck had forgotten how well some of them could work together.

"And past that," Mercedes said, "the girl can be entitled as hell. Oh, don't give me that look, Kurt. You're her best friend, you should know it better than anyone. Is she going to fly out here for a _chance_ at a lead? It'd be one thing if she thought she was flying out for a sure thing, because she usually thinks she's _owed_ a sure thing." Mercedes laughed a little and rubbed the side of her head. "I can remember that much from two worlds, now. This is crazy."

"And then she'd be worried about what would happen if she did get the lead but then the play flopped," Santana added. "She'd want a full, long run where she doesn't miss a single show, since she doesn't even have an understudy. Because otherwise, the girl could push her down the stairs like Showgirls. Again, stop with the looks, Kurt. You've shittalked Rachel before, too."

"I'm more horrified that you think I'd be familiar with the plot of Showgirls."

"I love Showgirls," Brittany said. So did Puck, after Brittany had invited him and Artie over to watch the movie in a Rocky Horror-esque audience participation night. He remembered very little except for boobs and booze.

"Anyway," Santana continued, "I do like the general idea, Quinn, but Rachel needs to be convinced that this is a done deal and a huge hit ready to explode."

"She'll want to know all the details about it," Artie chimed in, nodding. "Who's producing, and what theatre is it at, to make sure it'll go through...."

"She'd want to meet her co-star," Kurt added reluctantly, "if we're trying to pretend like this is ready to launch as soon as they have her. If she has vocal chemistry with someone, she'll be convinced that the whole world will want to hear them together. I know that makes it harder to pull off, because we'll need someone to pretend to be the lead, but it would go an enormous way toward convincing her. Trust me."

"The two of you sing together sometimes," Finn said. "And you like theatre stuff."

"And Rachel's going to believe that her best friend just happened to be cast in this huge play and didn't mention it to her? That I would somehow be a huge breakout star without a single role to my name?" Kurt retorted. "When I've been busy with work and have...." He sighed. "And haven't had much time for any sort of performing, as much as I hate to say it?"

Finn nodded in awkward agreement, and the rest of the group put their hands to their mouths in thought. What they'd all said made sense, as little as Puck liked to hear it. Rachel liked details and she liked to plan, and that meant that she would need a lot of convincing before she rocketed toward Los Angeles like a fame-seeking missile. As soon as she believed Quinn's story, she'd launch toward this promise in Los Angeles; until then, she'd cling desperately to her potential future in London and not chalk it up as another failure like New York had been. 

So deep was he in thought, it took Puck a second to place a grumbling noise as coming from Santana as she dug through her purse. Squinting, Santana turned a business card this way and that. "I think it says that he can sing," she muttered as she tried to make out the tiny text, and reached for her phone. "Cooper, it's me. We need you. Maybe." With a roll of her eyes, she held up her phone. "Say hi to Cooper, everyone." After a few stray voices greeted him, she put the phone back to her ear. "Yeah, that was us. The heroes. Yes, we all have superpowers right now. Oh my god, stop, yes, we're awesome and kickass and whatever. Can you sing?" She grinned at an apparent yes, then hesitated. "I need a killer voice. I need 'convince Rachel Diva Berry that you're going to star with her and match her note for sad-face note.'" Another beat. "Cooper, that was your cue to sing something."

"I really didn't even know he existed," Kurt whispered to Puck as they waited.

Disappointment was clear on Santana's face as she thanked Cooper and hung up. "He's okay," she said, "but I don't think he's got the chops to make Rachel fly in from London. And he doesn't have that weird over-dramatic wobble in his voice, like Kurt does."

"It's called vibrato and they use it on Broadway," Kurt said, sniffing.

"Whatever. Cooper sings normally, and normal's not going to lure in Rachel. Am I wrong?" Santana asked Finn. "I mean, obviously she sometimes slums in the beige pits of shockingly average, considering that she rode you like an extremely boring pony, but she's in full performance mode right now. And performance mode Rachel likes things that are seriously over the top."

_She has a point,_ Puck thought as he saw Finn's ire rise. Grabbing his maybe-friend before he started a full argument, Puck pulled him over to where he and Kurt were standing on the walkway. Hopefully he and Finn really were friends again, or this would end poorly. "Focus, dude. She's not saying anything you haven't said yourself." They needed to save these girls and get Rachel there ASAP, and Finn storming off to pout like a kindergartener wouldn't help either of those goals.

"Excuse me?" Finn asked, hurt.

"Do you not know how many times we've heard you freaking out over how Rachel is amazing and special and... whatever, and you have no idea why she'd like a guy like you? A lot. A lot of damn times."

Finn turned to Kurt for a denial, but Kurt only said, "I... yes, a lot. I mean, I think you're great, Finn! Obviously. But your lack of confidence has spiraled... on occasion." He caught Finn's wrist. "It doesn't mean you're not special," Kurt said soothingly. "It just means that Rachel is very, very loud in reminding you of how special she is, and I can understand why you don't always feel up to the comparison. All right?"

"All right," Finn said grudgingly. "Rachel does get weird when she's got a mission in mind. That's why she broke up with me. If she's in that headspace, then we need someone who can stand up to Performance Rachel. Someone besides Kurt. Someone she doesn't know in this world, and... oh, no."

He'd said the last bit too loudly, and the rest of the group turned toward him. "What?" Artie asked.

"I might have thought of someone," Finn said, sounding like he was seeing the end of the world right then.

"Do you really think she'd fly out here for Blaine?" Puck quietly asked Kurt. Personally, he didn't think she would; it'd take a hell of a click with someone and an even bigger voice to get Rachel Berry to abandon her West End dreams for a city not known for musical theatre. Kurt had to have a more generous assessment of Blaine's chances, as Puck acknowledged what the two of them had once shared. So, if Kurt didn't think it was worth the effort of trying to pass off that guy in Ohio as being in Los Angeles, waiting for her, then they were really boned.

A darkly amused look on Kurt's face said that he'd figured out who Finn was thinking of. From that smirk and the way he shook his head, it wasn't Blaine. 

"Well," Finn said as he stared at his iPhone in blatant disgust, "funny story, guys: not having an alien-possessed director swoop in and take over your choir with a bunch of memory wipes turns out to give you a better work ethic." He flipped the phone around. On the screen was a snapshot of an incoming choir at UCLA, taken after their auditions at the end of the previous year. Front and center was their target. "Looks like Jesse is still in Los Angeles."

Quinn hid a smile behind her hand. Santana, Mercedes, and Artie didn't bother masking their laughter.

"I can't believe Finn figured that out when we didn't," Brittany said with more than a little distaste. _"Finn."_

"What can I say," Finn gritted out as he stared at that show-smiling face. "You mention someone swooping in and convincing Rachel that he's supposed to sing with her, and he's the guy who comes to mind. Gross. Do I really have to go talk to him?"

"Under no circumstances are you talking to Jesse, Finn," Santana immediately said. She looked around their group with consideration, then nodded. "Mercedes, Kurt: heel."

"Excuse me?" Mercedes asked.

"The three of us are the baddest vocal bitches in this group, and we're going to go beat St. James down with the magic of song and convince him of our brilliant plan."

"And if he doesn't?" Kurt asked warily.

"Then we're also going to bring some MGH along with us, and we'll tote him around in a trunk like a dead body on the Sopranos if he gives us any trouble."

"I like that idea more," Finn said. "Go with that idea." They ignored him.

"The rest of you, start looking for the girls," Santana ordered them. Between Quinn's plan and now Santana's, it was clearly a day for female leadership; Puck kind of liked it. She kissed Brittany good-bye, and then rounded on Artie. "Tina could probably charge that battery back up, but I don't really want to walk back into that apartment right now. Chances are, I'd be seeing Chang's wontons and I am not up for that. Can you figure out a way to get the car running again?"

"Can I figure out how to jump a car battery?" Artie asked doubtfully. "Like you expect me to just be able to splice off the power supply from that vending machine I saw on the first floor, jury-rig a capacitor from a couple of cell phones, and oh yeah, I think I can do it. I guess I have my powers back, huh?" That put more genuine smiles on their faces than Jesse had earned, and the biggest ones since Kurt had started talking about the girls' potential fates. 

As the group began moving toward the elevator to take Artie downstairs, Kurt turned to Puck and clasped his hands tightly. "Please find them. I keep thinking back to how I reacted when I heard, and I just... I feel like the worst person in the world right now."

"You are the best person I know," Puck murmured, and brushed a few strands of Kurt's hair into place behind his ear. "I remember how I was ever able to think of myself as a hero in the first place, and it was because I had you to look up to. Okay?"

"I don't feel very heroic right now," Kurt said, and kissed the back of Puck's hand, "but thank you for saying it."

"Heroes, they... they inspire other people, because you can't believe they keep going when you think you would have given up way earlier." Some part of Puck was shocked at the sincerity pouring from him, but another part realized that he'd been meaning to tell Kurt this for years in another world. If it could finally spill over here, then all the better. "They never give up, they...."

Kurt knuckled away another tear, but this time he was smiling. "You were going to finish with 'never surrender,' weren't you?"

"Yeah, and now I can't think of something else to say," Puck said, frowning. With a deep breath, he started again. "Heroes are someone you can look up to. Someone who inspires you with everything they do. And someone who never gives up. Even if you don't think you deserve the name, just know that I always think that you do. Okay?"

"I love you," Kurt said, warm and soft against Puck's ear as they embraced. "Thank you."

"And heroes say 'thank you' over a few nice words," Puck finished with a wry grin, "when they're the ones doing way more for you." With great honor and respect, he smacked Kurt on the ass and steered him in the direction of the staircase. Laughing, Kurt let himself be guided. 

As they walked downstairs, Puck saw Santana watching them from where she waited by the elevator. There was a frown on her face, etched deep in thought. Although Brittany's arm was around her waist in the same easy comfort that he shared with Kurt, Santana barely seemed to notice. "Finn?" she asked as the elevator door dinged. Her hand brushed away a stray lock of hair, and lingered on her forehead. It was hard to hear her over the noise of them crowding into the elevator, but her next question was unmistakable. 

"Yeah?"

"When this is sorted out, I want you to pull off the scabs."


	14. Side Effects

It felt like they deserved some grand reunion with fireworks and a marching band, set against a perfect sunset. Instead, Tina was dumped by her boyfriend and dumped on Mike's lap, and they were left in an empty apartment in a strange city. Honking cars were their soundtrack with beating hearts as percussion. "Hi," Tina said in a small voice as she stared at the man she wanted to grow old with.

"Hi," Mike said.

"I dated Finn. It was really weird."

"I never asked you to be my girlfriend. It was really stupid."

Smiles beamed. Love could be the simplest thing in the world with the right person, and falling in love could be as easy as falling down. Maybe it was for the best that they didn't get a huge reunion, full of drama. That had never been the two of them. Everything had been easy when their lives worked like they were supposed to. They worked together every day, they talked about their problems, they planned for the future. They were the stable couple that everyone else measured themselves against. It wasn't a big movie story, clicking back into place like two cogs, but it was them. In the crazy sideshow that was their friends and the world they lived in, Mike and Tina were... normal.

Now that she was back with her true love, everything else in Tina's life suddenly felt normal again. It didn't matter that she could remember living in a strange town, going to a strange school, fighting battles with faces she didn't know. Those were details. Her and Mike and a life together in New York were her foundation, and she had her foundation back.

They kissed, long and slow and sweet. His fingers traced across her hair like some delicate holy relic. "I love you," Mike breathed.

"I love you, too," Tina said, adjusting her seat to straddle his lap. Her short plaid skirt flared over his hips as her legs spread. She remembered these clothes. They were an identity strong enough to scream one out for her when she sometimes felt like a mouse in the corner. The Tina who had first, nervously dyed her pair in colored streaks and smeared on eyeliner wasn't someone who'd pictured herself sprawled on top of a beautiful boy like this, feeling him strain against his denim jeans and press thickly against her underwear. 

"We should... probably move," Mike said between kisses as he fumbled at her waistband for the buttons.

"Uh huh," Tina agreed as she slid his zipper gently over his straining erection and cupped her hand over the boxer briefs underneath. A spot of moisture dotted them; it was nothing compared to her underwear.

"They could... come back," he said. His nimble fingers undid the multitude of buttons marching down the front of her frilly black top.

"Uh huh," Tina agreed and shrugged off her shirt. The lack of protest was enough for Mike, and he reared up to kiss her again with renewed vigor. Tina rocked her hips forward and delighted in the way her body against his still-contained cock made Mike shudder and groan.

Remembering something from another world, Tina fumbled through Puck's abandoned bag for the MGH he'd stolen, and snuck another capsule before returning to straddle Mike. She didn't know how long it had been since she'd taken that pill in the car, but Finn had said that two were fine, anyway. For this, she wanted total control and as much strength as possible. She kissed Mike, long and slow and sweet, and let the pill affect her before finding her cell phone on the table and draining its battery. "Ready?" she asked breathlessly.

His thumbs hooked around the top of her panties as he nodded, but she shook her head. Not that, not yet. She wasn't on birth control and they didn't have a condom within reach, and Tina had at least enough sense left to know that she had a long time ahead when it would be safe to have Mike inside her. This reunion was for other options, and with Mike's nod, she reminded him of what she could do.

The energy she had drained trickled into Mike, directly into the pleasure center of his mind. It was a slow build, and one that gave him time to recall this way they'd once amused themselves. His eyes wide, Mike nodded again as Tina turned the pleasure from a trickle to a torrent. It couldn't have been easy to keep his eyes open; what she was doing must feel like full, penetrative sex when his nerves were twice as sensitive. But he managed, somehow, and Mike held her gaze as Tina rocked her hips and teased his mind, until the very last seconds before he came. He said her name not as a scream, but a prayer. A blessing. 

"I love you," Mike said again as he returned to coherency, breathing hard. 

When Mike's hand skimmed down her back toward her underwear, Tina groaned in anticipation, and again when he stopped just above the swell of her ass. "What...?" he murmured as he pushed down the elastic waistband and felt at something that had just been covered by the thin cotton. When he did, Tina groaned, and panted wetly against his neck when he brushed the other way. Whatever he was doing felt as good as when his hand worked against her clit, and she moved to help him slide her underwear off.

"Don't stop, please, don't," she breathed when his searching fingers stilled. They started moving again and her whole body shuddered, a desperate release like it didn't know whether to freeze or melt. It felt intense and wonderful. "I love you, Mike, I love you, I'm never losing you again, I love you I love you." _Wasn't this perfect,_ Tina thought dizzily as Mike worked his hand against that spot at the base of her spine and she rocked her mound against his narrow, muscled leg. _We broke each other out of our shells. We got back together. And five minutes later: this._ Words were gasped even in thought. Her mind fragmented like a prism.

"Are you—"

Tina quieted him with a fierce kiss. Their mouths ground together. Heat thrummed between her legs and bliss ran along her spine. She was orgasm-tense everywhere, not just between her legs, and she clawed toward release like a hunter. Mike was pressed between her and the cushions like a trap, and she pushed harder as his free hand did whatever it was doing to her back. The hill crested, her toes curled, and Tina's entire body curled in tight before the explosion hit.

Mike's mouth was bloody when he pulled away from her desperate kiss, and his stare was wide and white.

"Baby?" Tina whispered in surprise as she saw. Her muscles were still thrumming inside her, fading slowly away like waves still rolling in as the tide rolled out, but that bloody lip was everything. "Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry." She knew she'd missed him, but she didn't know she'd missed him that much. They'd pulled muscles on accident, or scraped knees when an adventurous position didn't quite work out, but she'd never _bit_ him like that, on accident. (And even on purpose, she'd never drawn that much blood.)

Mike didn't say anything. He stroked that spot on her back again and Tina shivered; it was even better than before. What was he doing, and why did he look so scared? "Can you feel that?" Mike whispered.

"Yes," Tina groaned. She felt like a waterfall between her legs. Whatever he was doing had her ready again, more aroused than she'd ever been in her life. Was this the MGH effects? She'd have to thank Puck.

"You can feel... that?" Mike asked as he did something she couldn't identify by touch. It felt wonderful, still, but it wasn't at that spot on her spine any more.

"Uh huh. Why?" Tina asked, as Mike pulled his hand back in front of her. A thickly furred tail came along with it.

Oh.

Oh, no. There was a tail in his hand, long and black and as furry as if some Maine Coon cat had grown to her size. She could feel his hand on something that didn't map onto the body she knew. All of that was true. But, still: _no_. With a ringing in her ears and a great rush of speed around her as her heart pounded, Tina refused to accept what she saw and felt. At least, she managed to hold off the truth until Mike fumbled for his phone. In the dim reflection of its aluminum back, Tina saw her face and the fangs she'd grown.

"I think it's the pills," Mike whispered in shock as her jaw dropped. "It was just a little bump at first, and then all of a sudden it..."

All of a sudden, it grew. All of a sudden, fangs grew. They were small, still, but sharp enough to draw blood on her tongue when she felt them. Clearly, they were sharp enough to draw blood on Mike, too. "I have a tail," Tina said, numb.

"You have a tail."

"I think it'th the pillth," Tina said, and grimaced when the fangs stopped growing at a length just long enough to make it hard to talk. Her _fangs_ were making it hard to talk. Fangs. Her fangs. And her tail. Her fangs and her tail.

Her jaw set and she launched herself off Mike, then scooped up her panties and yanked them on. In her underwear and socks, with a furry tail waving behind her, Tina threw open the door to the apartment and yelled to whoever in Los Angeles wanted to hear, _"Noah Puckerman, get your ath inthide thith apartment!"_ At the end, she bit her tongue. "Ow."

__

* * *

"Where do you think Jesse'd be?" Mercedes asked her phone as Kurt directed Santana through the unfamiliar streets approaching UCLA. They were beautiful, expensive, and full of much sleeker cars than the one she was driving. Already, Kurt had missed two turns because he'd gawked at some high-end storefront instead of looking at the map like she'd ordered him to. To be fair—and Santana did hate being fair—she'd missed a turn of her own because she didn't listen to him telling her to get into the right lane. Both of them had huge weak spots for shiny things.

That could be a plus, though. She knew she was headed for fame and fortune; he knew he was headed for glitz and intrigue. They might not be natural super generous goody two-shoes like Captain America, but the thought of huge bank accounts was a fierce driver for both of them. And really, so long as they did what they were supposed to do (and got handed platinum credit cards in return), wasn't that what mattered?

"I really wish I'd gone to college right about now," Kurt said faintly as they passed a group of kids coming out of an apartment much nicer than his. Their goal wasn't a Lexus or BMW, but it certainly wasn't made out of rust spots and duct tape like Brittany's car. "I bet those roommates never did coke off the coffee table."

"Like your dad would have even paid for it," Santana said without thinking. That was a bigger bitch move than she usually pulled off without good reason, and she did grimace over it. Her family was everything Kurt's wasn't: supportive, accepting, and encouraging of a future where Santana was exactly who she was supposed to be. Hell, her mom had actually guilt tripped her (nicely) over Cooper, and apparently she'd been keeping up with Brittany like she was already part of the family. Mama Lopez had welcomed her new daughter-in-law, while all of them knew that Kurt was looked down on for not being who his father thought he was supposed to be: straight. Macho. Dressed in rugby shirts. In other words: Finn.

It wasn't like Kurt was Santana's favorite person; far from it. He was prissy and weird and got excited about all of the stupidest topics imaginable, like Twilight and pleats. Still, you didn't have to love a person to feel a little bad over a parent who didn't want their child, and you only had to be above room temperature to know that _no one_ should be viewed as a lesser human being for not being Finn Freaking Hutton. Maybe Kurt's dad would pay more attention to him when he was a badass special agent again. That'd be nice.

Ugh. She was feeling genuine sympathy for Kurt. She needed to get this hero bullshit out of the way, pronto. It was messing with her head.

"He would have," Kurt corrected idly as they waited for Mercedes to give them their final destination. "I disappointed him by not going to college. I just didn't want to have all those tuition payments as a bill that I owed him."

"He was going to make you pay everything back?" Santana asked. She supposed that wasn't too weird, but a parent who guilt-tripped their kid over not going to school _and_ expected them to pay everything was a bigger jerk than she'd been picturing, and her picture of Mr. Hutton was basically a walking stick figure with a label reading JERK over his face and a label reading I MADE FINN over his junk.

"No. He never said that." Kurt looked out at the late afternoon light. She saw him swallow. "I still would have, though."

Okay, it was time to cut this conversation off. She was getting way too deep into the sadsack mind of Kurt Hutton, and it was more dangerous than shark-infested waters.

"Got it," Mercedes said, leaning forward. "It took Artie a little while because Jesse was unlisted, but he found his apartment, the auditorium building where his choir rehearses, and his five favorite stores and restaurants to shop at."

"How'd he find that?" Kurt wondered as he took her scribbled notes.

"Um. Hacked his credit accounts and looked at the most popular places they were used."

"I'm glad Artie's on our side," Kurt said as he studied their options. "So, is he at home practicing new hairstyling techniques, giving the Starbucks barista a drink order with eleven customizations, or already practicing this semester's songs?"

That was a tricky enough question that Santana actually pulled over to the side of the road. They sat for a minute in silent contemplation. The problem with choosing the practice option was that Jesse could be annoying and lazy, and putting in work when his choir hadn't even started for the year wasn't natural for someone who'd gotten kicked out of his school in another timeline. But Jesse could also be the lead under Shelby Corocoran's terrifying directorship, which had involved both dancing until blisters burst and transferring schools just to spy on another choir. She could believe that he'd blow off his work; she could also believe that he would spend all summer working on songs so he could assure himself the lead role all through the year to follow, like he felt he deserved.

Unless they were forced to hunt him down among that list of stores, multiple tries wouldn't take much effort to make. The music building and his dorm room couldn't be more than ten minutes apart. It was a matter of wanting to guess _right_ , because whether Jesse was practicing or not would tell them a lot about what sort of person he was and how this confrontation would go. When Santana put it that way in her mind, the answer was clear. "We need to go to—"

"The music building," Kurt said, just as Mercedes said "The auditorium." All three grinned.

"It's what Rachel would be doing," Mercedes pointed out. "And let's cross our fingers and hope this Jesse is as Rachel-y as he can possibly be."

 _Huh,_ Santana thought as she set the car back into motion, _we actually just worked well together._ In a world where they'd only ever been classmates, rather than choirmates with interweaving vocal parts to learn and choreography to master, it was easy to forget that they could make a great team in-between the arguing and makeouts and partner swapping. If she was the sort of person who didn't pride herself on having a big sparkling diamond where her heart should be, she'd call the feeling a little bit touching.

They walked into Schoenberg Music Hall like Charlie's Angels, backlit by the low sun and with a perfect gust of breeze that ruffled their hair just as they stepped inside. Yes, she liked this feeling. She liked it a lot. "Come on, ladies," Santana said airily, "let's listen at some doors."

Kurt glared and stayed rooted where he was. 

"Boy lady," she amended.

His eyebrow raised.

The image of Finn in his stupid rugby shirts entered Santana's thoughts and she tried not to frown. She'd changed how she showed herself to the world to try to become an A-list movie star with a bank account in the millions. Kurt had run away from his father's judgment so he wouldn't feel miserable in his own skin every day. Her shiny diamond heart wasn't supposed to feel anything but love for Brittany, righteous rage, and greed. Sympathy sucked. "Boy." 

"Thank you," Kurt said, and sailed past her toward the signs for the practice rooms. Mercedes shot Santana an amused but pointed look as she passed. _Let Kurt have this one_ , Santana told herself. _I still have my mom while he still has his dad._

As the building was mostly quiet in the last lull of summer, it didn't take them long to find one voice echoing down a hallway. It was one they recognized, and with shared grins, the trio followed the sound to its origin. They walked past unassuming practice room doors, which made sense; Jesse St. James would never deign to practice in a little cubby when he could stand center stage in an unused auditorium and hear his voice rebound off the rafters. And it was definitely his voice. For some people, having that much talent could wear away some of their roughest edges; for him, it just left Santana irked that someone had decided that Jesse's voice needed to share the same body as Jesse's personality.

"Robbie Williams," Kurt said idly as they placed the lines he was singing at top volume.

'Let me entertain you, indeed.' It was annoyingly well-suited for him, and she had flashbacks to a choir in matching blue outfits singing rock and trying to make them all feel like crap. Him singing that song made her think that he was in the right mindset for what they were about to do; him sparking that memory put her in the right one, as well. When they pushed open the back doors and began the long walk toward the stage, Jesse kept singing until the natural end to his song.

"I reserved this auditorium," he said, reaching for his water bottle. "Freshmen can use the practice rooms."

"We're not freshmen," Mercedes said.

"I've never seen you in this building before," Jesse said. His eyes narrowed. "Are you... non-majors?" The word sounded like an accusation.

"No, but we have a proposition for you," Santana said sweetly.

"I'm listening."

"We have a friend," Mercedes began, and Jesse's interest began to visibly wander.

"An incredibly talented star in the West End who is hoping to make her stage debut in Los Angeles," Kurt jumped in. Jesse's attention perked back up. 

"A star?" Mercedes mumbled, and Kurt shrugged.

"Right," Santana said, taking in how Kurt's approach had landed. "She wants to have someone... worthy of her waiting here in L.A. And we're trying to help her out by finding the guy she's going to star opposite." As Kurt's bending of the truth had gone so well, she added, "She moved to London after, um, conquering Broadway. But she really needs to try somewhere new, now. And L.A. is just full of potential."

"What's her name?"

"Rachel Berry."

Jesse snorted. "I may not be familiar with every single name in London, but I am very sure that a Rachel Berry has never 'conquered Broadway.' Why are you really here?"

They exchanged worried looks, and Mercedes spoke up with something close to the truth. "She really is going to be a huge star, but the only way she'll give Los Angeles a shot is if she knows that someone good enough is waiting here, ready to star with her. And that's you. We guess." Even listening to the fawning lie was slightly nausea-inducing; actually speaking it must be worse.

"You want me to play opposite someone in a show," Jesse summarized. "And what are your rates?"

"We don't really have a lot of money," Santana began, just as Kurt spoke over her with, "Well, it's more pretending that there _is_ a show...." She fixed him with a flat look and whispered, "We could have gotten to that a little later, Kurt." 

He shrugged in mild apology and whispered back, "Way to lie about Broadway to someone who's practically an expert on it, Santana."

This was not going well. All they needed to do was get Jesse, who had no idea who they were, to pretend to be another stranger's partner in a fake play to lure her thousands of miles to Los Angeles, and do it all for free. Really, it wasn't a lot to ask. If being nice didn't work, she would try another tactic to convince Jesse of that. "As little as I like to admit it," Santana said, "Rachel is probably the most talented person I know when it comes to just standing there and singing. She can't dress herself or figure out how to say ten words without making you want to punch her, but she's talented."

Catching her wrist and pulling her a step back, Kurt muttered, "You do have your memories back, right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Just checking, since we were all friends in New York, especially after everything we went through together with the Rifts."

"This is how I talk about my friends, Tiny Tim." Santana turned back to Jesse with a knowing smile. "She's better than you."

He laughed. "No one is better than me. Last Christmas I asked for monetary donations toward a study. Scientists proved I'm the best with ninety-five percent confidence. I... assume that's good. Math," he added with a twist of his mouth and dismissive flick of his wrist.

"She's better than you," Santana repeated. "When you sing one song with her, you're going to wonder how you've ever had another vocal partner. Ever."

"You two click," Kurt said grudgingly. "Believe me, there are other people I would have rather used to bring Rachel back from London. But if someone is going to convince her that a musical theatre future is waiting for her—"

"With all her detailed, over-the-top fantasies," Mercedes interjected.

"—Then you're the man for the job," Kurt finished. "And I do hate saying that. Really. But trust me. Just work with us on this, and you will be incredibly glad that you did. You'll have your perfect vocal partner and we'll have—" Santana elbowed him in the side before Kurt could mention anything about superheroics, even though he probably wouldn't. "—our friend back." He elbowed her in return.

Smiling slowly and moving like a stalking cat, Jesse began to close the space between them. Santana could see him inspect each of them anew and dismiss them just as quickly. She was too slick and urban in her tight dress and heavy makeup; a flygirl, backup dancer, nothing more. Kurt was a stereotype straight from the pens of the Will and Grace writers. Mercedes was the sassy fat black girl who occasionally let one big note fly. All of those assessments were on Jesse's stupid white straight face as clearly as if they'd been printed, and Santana's fingernails dug into her palms. "I can believe that Rachel is the most talented singer _you_ know," Jesse said. Condescension dripped like honey from his voice. 

"Mercedes," Santana said calmly, glad that she'd brought who she had. "Why don't you show Jesse what we can do? To let him know that our group is serious and jammed full of talent up to our eyeballs." If Jesse thought that Mercedes was only the cymbal crash, Santana would let her kick things off. 

With a broad smile, Mercedes strode past Jesse to the laptop he'd been using to cue up song tracks for timing work. A quick search later, she turned around with a pointed look. "I think this is going to be a really good match for that Robbie song you were singing, Jesse. Except we'll be better," she added as a song's familiar opening began to pound through the auditorium.

"Hot out the box," Mercedes belted along to Lambert's For Your Entertainment, "can we pick up the pace?"

Santana and Kurt grinned at each other and slid in to sing backup on the first verse. It was a song they knew, and all were able to blend with the others even though they'd never practiced. They couldn't have any sort of choreography on this first-ever runthrough, but they transitioned easily to the chorus, and let Santana step forward on the next verse when she gestured with her eyes toward center stage.

She was flawless, she was powerful, she was everything Santana Lopez should be in a performance. And, as she finished, she saw Jesse.

He looked like he couldn't wait for them to finish.

That _asshole_ , Santana thought, struggling to keep her face schooled as they dropped back into the chorus. They were rocking this. They were fucking rocking this! He could at least give them credit for pulling off one hell of a show! When they cycled around for another repeat of the chorus, Santana gestured impatiently for Mercedes and Kurt to turn up the choreography. It wasn't like they had anywhere to go with their vocals, and so they'd better be able to pull off some improvisation with their moves. _So much for that,_ Santana thought when Kurt and Mercedes both uncertainly began simple, repetitive movements. She was so used to being around Brittany, who turned every customer's 'Happy Birthday' at their diner into a choreography spectacular, that she'd forgotten that not everyone was a natural genius on the dance floor.

By the time Kurt strode out in front for his verse, Jesse's smile was flat-out _tolerant._ Santana felt her palms grow hot and forced down the fireballs that she wanted to lob at his stupid head. Suddenly, Jesse pulled back, startled, and looked genuinely impressed before he could hide it. _What's going on?_ Santana wondered as she tore her attention away from Jesse, and to where Kurt was singing just like she'd expected.

But, unlike she'd expected, Kurt had apparently sought some new move to pull off as their time in front of Jesse ticked away. Without thinking, he'd dropped into a MGH-powered splits that would have nearly gelded any unpowered man who tried to push his body to that position. Kurt looked shocked and regretful as he scrambled back to his feet, probably thinking he'd given away something they didn't want to tell, but Santana's mind was already clicking into high speed.

"Powers," she whispered to Mercedes between one line.

Mercedes shot her a disbelieving look. In return, Santana held her hands over her head and lit them on fire. Jesse gasped, then leaned forward, grinning. What Kurt had done was impressive, but humanly possible; nothing Jesse could do could ever compare to what Santana was showing him. Although Mercedes didn't look thrilled about it, she encircled herself with a glittering sphere like some Gaga prop. When Kurt saw the girls behind him, he nearly tripped over his own feet but just as quickly got on board with Santana's plan; once again, he was a gymnast on stage. At the end of the performance, Mercedes popped her shield bubble with a shimmer of light.

Doing that sent Jesse to his feet. Santana had seldom felt so shocked as she did right then, seeing Jesse St. James giving her a standing ovation. "Fantastic," Jesse said. "Putting your superpowers to use for performances; finally, someone is doing something worthwhile instead of just punching people in the jaw!"

"That's us," Santana said breathlessly, and wiggled her hand to put her last finger out. "And do you know what Rachel's power is?"

Jesse shook his head.

"She has a superpowered voice. It makes fireworks. It's really impressive."

A delighted grin spread. She could already see him calculating how much each of them would be worth to a major Hollywood talent agency, and how much his own career could benefit by using them as springboards to his own success. Jesse St. James was an incredibly aggravating combination of egotism and ambition, and he was even worse about it than Cooper; unlike Cooper, Jesse had the chops to back all of his ego up, and he never let the people around him forget that. If he'd been genuinely impressed by something, and Santana juggling fireballs and Mercedes popping glitter bubbles was something that many performers would love to do onstage, then Jesse would have to think that the entire world would also be willing to make them famous.

"Let me know what you need to get this Rachel girl here," Jesse said. 

The trio let out relieved breaths they didn't realize they'd been holding, and Santana gathered them for a quick whisper. "We'll want a 'producer' to introduce the show and Jesse to her, and that, Cooper can do. We'll have them Skype tomorrow, okay?" At their nods, Santana continued, "Okay, Kurt, you'll call her and tell her. And we'll—"

"Finn or Puck will," Kurt said instantly.

"Huh?" Mercedes asked. "Kurt, this is a you thing."

He bit his lip. "I just think that one of them would be better for this. Trust me. I'll... I'll explain later."

Whatever. They were too close to stumble now, and Santana refused to let Kurt's sudden reluctance be a tripwire right in front of the finish line. Jesse was going to lure Rachel, Rachel would complete their group, and then, just like Jesse said, they would use their superpowers for something important: getting famous.

Wait. 'Just like Jesse said?' Ugh. That made everything a little less appealing.

"Thanks," Santana said, snapping out of her thoughts. "Here, give me your number." She took her phone back after he'd punched it in. "We'll call you tomorrow, all right? Download Skype, and we'll bring you in on a conference call with Rachel."

Jesse nodded. "Your breath support faltered a little when you pulled your foot up past your head," he told Kurt, helpfully.

"Thanks," Kurt drawled. "I'll remember that."

The sun was still shining when they left the building, but Santana's thoughts were swirling ever-darker as they approached the car. What Jesse had said felt all wrong, and it reminded her of the strange feeling she'd gotten watching Kurt talk to Puck before they'd driven off, or the one she'd gotten when she realized that Lucia was in love with her. If fame and fortune was everything she wanted, then why didn't Jesse's words make her feel great, besides the fact that he was an annoying blow-hard with a hard-on for Rachel that completely eliminated any real chance at objectively judging others' talents?

"I can't believe we did it!" Mercedes crowed as they set off back toward Kurt's.

"I know!" Kurt giggled, then sobered. "I hope they're finding the girls right now."

 _Yeah,_ Santana nodded as she drove. _We need to keep what's important in mind._

* * *

It was as of yet unclear whether Tina would put her clothes back on.

On most occasions, Artie wouldn't complain about a girl's decision to stay stripped down. Although their paths had grown apart, he remembered dating her and having some really stellar makeout sessions with great under-the-shirt action. They'd never hit a stage where she was only in her underwear and skull-print knee socks, so her current goth appearance coupled with the near-nudity managed to be both nostalgic and nothing Artie had ever seen.

And he had definitely never seen her with a long, furry cat tail. It brushed the floor when it wasn't lashing behind her.

That addition was what made Tina's near-nudity kind of awkward. Most of the other people in the room were focused on her face as she ranted about how this was all Puck's fault, somehow, gawking at the new fangs in her mouth and wincing when she looked ready to bite her lip again. It was harder for Artie to trail her around the room as she ranted and gestured, and so he'd wound up behind her, right on a level to stare at that fluffy tail.

He needed a word that meant both 'weird' and 'neat.' None came to mind, and he settled for the obvious during a lull in Tina's ranting. "You look like an anime catgirl, it's kind of cool," Artie said. His newly-hacked phone worked on trying to find out information either about the kidnapped girls or the potential war situation, since no one else in the room was bothering with the task they'd been assigned after seeing Tina's tail.

Tina pursed her lips. "Why, becauthe I'm Athian?" Her eyes narrowed as he fought back laughter. "I am gonna learn to talk with thethe, and if you laugh until then I'll bite you."

If Artie didn't currently have a genius-level MGH brain nestled in his head he wouldn't have been able to hold back his instinctive reaction: "sexy." But he did, and he managed to limit himself to a few covering coughs. "No, because you're a hot girl with a cat tail, and I've seen that the most in anime? It's not like I see a lot of people walking around with tails."

"Not outside of Mutant Town, anyway," Quinn said. 

"Oh no, am I gonna be giant like that angry tiger guy?" Tina groaned. "My clotheth won't fit."

"It'll be okay," Finn said. "Side effects don't last. I mean. I don't think they do. Would. If I knew about MGH side effects, which I don't, because we've never had any problems."

Tina and Quinn exchanged an unimpressed look, and Quinn rounded on Finn. "One, you are a terrible liar. Two, take off those stupid sunglasses. Wearing them inside makes you look ridiculous."

"No, they makes me look like I'm from L.A.," Finn said. "And awesome."

"No, if you were from L.A., you wouldn't have sat inside this apartment and lost whatever tan you had," Quinn said, and started grabbing for the glasses on Finn's face. What would have been an easy dodge for him normally was hindered by his arm in its cast, and after a few lunges in which Finn moved smoothly backwards, he overcorrected and nearly lost his balance. As his good arm reached behind him to stop his fall, Quinn yanked away his glasses with a noise of triumph and hooked one earpiece over her shirt collar. "Now that we've fixed that, we can... uh...."

Finn looked guilelessly back as nearly everyone stared at him. "What?" he asked as his eyes glowed like a sunset in the middle of a heat wave. 

Artie's mouth opened, then closed, and he pointed wordlessly.

"You're all looking at me," Finn said. "You're all looking at me and... Kurt... drove... away." After a beat, Finn reacted like he'd just seen himself and had been enormously startled by the sight. "Oh my god, what happened? I'm a total freak!"

"There's no mirror, Finn," Quinn said flatly.

"I... uh... we... yeah, so MGH has some side effects," Finn mumbled. "But we looked them up and they're temporary. When we stop talking it, everything'll go back."

"I can buy that your eyeth will thtop glowing," Tina said, "but what, ith my tail just thupothed to drop off? Oh my god, Puck, thtop laughing at me! And you don't even look thurprithed! You knew, didn't you?" She'd managed that without flinching; maybe she was getting better at talking with her fangs.

"Yeah, Kurt told me jutht before he drove off with Thantana and Merthedeth," Puck giggled, and put up his hands to fend off Tina when she tried to pound on his chest with angry fists. "Oh, knock it off. You couldn't get past these even if I weren't jacked up on MGH." Sure enough, his hands were steel cuffs around her arms, and although she strained against him, Tina didn't managed to move her fists even a hair closer. Behind her, her tail flared out and looked twice as thick as before. It lashed like a bullwhip.

"We only found out today!" Finn said. "And seriously, we looked it up and the sites said the side effects stop after you stop taking it. Most people get all ragey or something, but I guess our batch does body changes, instead, once it builds up enough." Finn blinked. It was the weirdest thing; Artie could actually see the golden illumination along the top of his cheekbones turn off, then back on. "Wait, how did it build up enough for you? Kurt and I only changed because we had so much in our systems."

"Kurt changed, too?" Brittany asked.

"He got pale. Paler." Everyone was rightly bored by that, as that was significantly less exciting than glowing eyes or an actual cat tail and fangs.

"Tina took different pills," Puck supplied for an option when the question stumped everyone there. "We'd been eating out of the same bag, right? Well, today she took...." Hefting a stockpile of capsules out of his bag, Puck gestured to it and grinned. "This new batch. Maybe it's a different formula." Those of them who hadn't driven back from Long Beach looked startled, Artie included. That was a massive amount of MGH. How in the world had Puck gotten so much?

"Puck," Quinn said carefully, "where did you get all that?"

"From work."

"He stole it from a Japanese organized crime syndicate," Brittany said. "I didn't know what the Yakuza was, so I looked it up when we got back here and were standing outside. They look pretty scary, so I'm glad the drugs aren't worth much."

"You stole drugs from the Yakuza," Artie repeated blankly. "Are you gonna hotwire a car from the Mafia, next?"

"No," Puck said like Artie was the dumbest person alive. "We're not in New York anymore, where would I even find a Mafia car?"

"Thank you for that stellar demonstration in missing the point," Quinn began. "Puck, you stole drugs and brought them here, and gave them all to us? When you apparently knew they had side effects?" she added with a pointed gesture toward Finn.

Puck held up a hand. "I only found out right before Kurt took off. It was all the two of them before that."

"Thanks, man," Finn said. "Way to be an awesome friend like always."

"Oh, don't give me that," Puck began, and Finn sneered right back. His eyes burned like a threat. Brittany and Mike tried to calm Tina down; Mike's attempts focused on how pretty the tail was, which worked a little, while Brittany said that she should consider dating her cat, which didn't. Quinn interjected herself into the growing argument between Finn and Puck, where her contribution seemed to be centered around them both being morons. And Artie, left sitting on the edge of the room, looked at his phone to see if it had processed anything in the meantime.

Oh, good. It had identified some sound strings from the news videos in India and Pakistan. With a regretful look toward his arguing friends, Artie popped in earbuds and listened to whatever he'd identified, isolated, and cranked up to max volume.

When Artie came back to awareness, his earbuds were out and Puck's arms were around Artie's wrists. They were just as sure of shackles as they'd been around Tina's. "What...?" Artie asked groggily, and took in the bruise on Puck's cheek.

"You in there?" Puck asked warily.

"I... yeah. What's going on?" Artie asked. Everyone in the room was looking at him, worried.

"You were sitting over here on your own, and then you threw a mug at Puck's head all of a sudden," Finn said, and gestured to a dustpan full of ceramic shards.

Artie stared at it in shock, and then at the developing marks on Puck's face. He didn't need Quinn's cold words to tell him the obvious: he could have taken Puck's eye out with that throw, and he didn't even remember doing it. 

"He was listening to this," Mike said, holding up Artie's phone. Although the people around him told Mike to be careful, Mike held up a hand and only put in one earbud before he played the video. His lips curled into a snarl as he listened, and his arms shook as he pulled it away from him at the end of the clip. "What was that?" Mike asked uncertainly. The phone was set down on a table near the door with unsteady hands.

"It's a clip from CBS," Artie said. "Of footage from where people are shooting. I... that audio was playing in the background, I guess." He swallowed. "What is it?"

Brittany poked the phone like it might burn her, and Quinn and Tina stepped up to inspect it. Tina's tail was full again, and lashing. "Mind control," Quinn said with significant looks at Mike, then Artie. "Something's being played in that area to make people angry. That's why they started shooting. It must have the same effect on a recording that it does in person. No one else listen to that, okay?"

"This must be what we're supposed to do!" Brittany said with excitement. Everyone looked at her uncertainly, and she continued, "We wondered how we were supposed to stop a war and save the world, right? Well, if someone is playing an evil speech or a song or something—"

"A song, I think," Mike said, shaking his head like a wet dog. Artie nodded vaguely. 

"Then it's a villain and we can stop that and fix things! Yay!" Brittany said, and clapped her hands before scooping up Artie's phone. "This is how we'll save the world!"

"What's how we'll save the world?" Kurt asked as the trio returned from UCLA, and he stepped into his house next to where Brittany stood. Seeing her holding the phone with headphones attached, he popped one in and hit play before anyone realized what was happening. Kurt went still with shock, then began to flicker like a bad movie. _Illusion powers,_ Artie remembered, although they were strange to be reminded of in person. One second he looked as he had when walking in; the next, he was as pale as Finn had described. Anger twisted his face, and Kurt's fist pulled back and arced toward the door. If not for Mercedes' shield that she'd thrown up in last-second shock, he might have broken her nose.

An invisible hand pinned Kurt against the wall, and he struggled and yelled against his brother's telekinesis holding him still. When Finn pulled the wire from Kurt's ear, he looked shaken, but no moreso than Kurt did as he came back to himself.

"I know, it's creepy," Mike said. Artie nodded. Thankfully, Puck had launched himself across the room to check on Kurt, and had dropped Artie's wrists when he had.

"You okay?" Puck asked, although his hand hesitated on the way to brush Kurt's cheek. The illusion hadn't gone back up, and the changes were more than Finn had told them. Kurt wasn't just snow-pale; his ears were pointed like some Tolkien elf and his eyes glowed as brightly as Finn's, although they were turquoise instead of gold. Puck swallowed and asked again, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I'm... I'm so sorry," Kurt told Mercedes, who still looked shaken. Santana was mute and wide-eyed, although Artie wasn't sure whether it came more from Kurt's appearance or how he'd nearly put his fist through Mercedes' face.

"Mind-control audio, it makes you angry," Artie explained. "It was what was playing in Pakistan and India. I isolated it from the news report, and now I kind of wish I hadn't. Sorry, Puck." His apology earned a brusque nod from Puck, and new shock from Kurt, who finally took in the bruise on Puck's cheek.

"Oh." Mercedes managed a weak smile.

"I wish I hadn't shown Kurt how to throw a punch," Santana muttered.

"I know that voice," Kurt said. He put a hand to his chest and breathed hard. "Oh my god."

Quinn frowned. "What do you mean, you know that voice?"

"That was Juniper's voice," Kurt said. "The girl from my work that someone kidnapped. She... oh my god! She has mind control singing! She wanted to impress the executives when I walked in with Sky that one time, and all I could think about was how good she was!"

"The Disney Channel girl!" Mike realized, and nodded. "That's what I was hearing! It was definitely her."

"Didn't you say that the girls were just taken?" Artie asked, his mind clearing and clicking into high gear. "Like, _just_ taken." At Kurt's nod, Artie started running the numbers in his mind. "She's definitely not actually over there. This happened too soon after she disappeared to get her to where shit went down, even in some crazy rocket-powered plane. They must have recorded her here and played it there."

"Can you check some things on the track for me?" Santana asked after a beat. "Some quality markers?"

"Maybe, why?"

"Brit, do you have that list of studios?" Santana asked. Startled, Brittany dug through her purse until she found a list of scratched names. Santana handed it to Artie and he studied the names of several dozen vocal studios in the Los Angeles metropolitan area. "If it's a professional-sounding recording," Santana explained, "then they had to have some professional mixers and equipment behind it. I've been looking into recording some tracks, I know. These are places I found that I was going to use when I... eventually did a demo tape for music companies."

"There have to be thousands of companies in L.A.," Artie said after considering that. "Why these?"

"They're in the right area, they're good, and they're small." She shrugged. "It's a start."

"By small," Quinn began, "you mean... fewer people to take care of after they're done recording with them."

"You think they killed the recording people?" Finn asked, shocked.

"I think these people are trying to start a world war, and they wouldn't hesitate at killing a couple of sound engineers to do so."

"What if it's not a professional recording?" Mike asked, although he sounded like he hated himself for bringing it up.

"Then we'll have zero leads. But right now, we have this. Maybe," Mercedes said. It was a thin string, but one on which they needed to pin all their hopes, and everyone nodded. 

"I guess we're investigating again, guys," Tina said. "Let's see if any disappearances have been reported for anyone working at any of those studios. Artie, do whatever sound checks Santana wants you to run on that audio."

"And we'll look at the web sites in the meantime," Quinn said. "Although we might need you to hack the police databases for any missing person or murder reports."

"Right," Artie said, and breathed out. He'd spent so long in his room, forgotten by the world, that it was a little dizzying to be the lynchpin on which everyone's plans rested. "Mike, you, Tina, and Mercedes do those checks. Quinn, come help me with the audio. If you go crazy and punch me, well... better you than a lot of people."

"Thanks," she said dryly.

The Los Angeles-based people were left a little stunned by how smoothly they started working together, and exchanged uncertain glances at how they'd been left out of the proceedings. "We got Jesse on board," Santana told everyone. "It was great, we totally wowed him."

"We did," Mercedes said with a smile, although she immediately dove back to work with Tina and Mike.

"And Tina grew a tail," Brittany told Kurt like he wouldn't have seen. "I guess about the same time that you grew your ears?"

"What?" Kurt asked, startled, and felt the side of his head. He jolted when he felt the slight points, and groaned again when he looked at his hand and saw that he was showing its pale, true appearance to the room. "Finn," he growled. "Why are you showing them your eyes?"

"Long story."

"Fine. Puck, you need to convince Rachel to come to L.A. Right now." They started discussing their own plans among them, and Artie mostly ignored their work. Only when Santana asked for something that sounded potentially dangerous did Artie look up.

"I've been thinking about fame and powers, and... and I don't know. Maybe there's something important there that I need to remember," Santana said. "Like I asked, will you give me _all_ my memories back? Right now?"

Finn bit his lip. "I don't know... I might hurt you...."

Looking up from his call with Jesse, in which he'd apparently scheduled an earlier call than originally planned with Rachel, Kurt prodded Finn in his arm. "Isn't my brain easier for you to read? Just practice on me."

"Oh," Finn said, and relaxed. "Yeah, it's way easier. You'd be okay with me giving you back all the memories of what happened over there? There could be a lot, you might get a headache."

"It's fine," Kurt said impatiently. "If Santana had her own TV show there, then she might know something about the industry that could help us right now. More than I would know from just working in wardrobe. If you need to practice on me in order to do her mind, then do. And baby, please put an ice pack on your cheek, I want to cry when I look at you."

Puck kissed him and went to do so. On the way, he passed where Mercedes, Mike, and Tina were diligently typing. Tina still hadn't put on more clothes, but her tail only twitched on occasion, now, like some contentedly resting cat.

Artie went back to his work. Once past the mug-throwing and random punches and hidden side effects from drugs stolen from the Yakuza, they made a good team.


	15. Digging In

"This is the place," Blaine said uncertainly as he pulled to a stop. "I... I think."

He'd found a Sam Evans on Facebook in the Kentucky town that Figgins had named. It was a small enough place that Blaine was confident he had the right person before he messaged; Sam was a senior with football as an interest, and although he hadn't bothered to list his previous schools, how many Sam Evans could a graduating class of a few dozen people hold? With Sam's extracurriculars in hand, he and Lauren had agreed that the easiest way to approach this kid was with a little white lie: his old football coach at McKinley had found something of his, and since they were driving through, they'd agreed to drop it by.

Sam remembered Lauren, though she didn't remember him, and so it was an easy story to sell. After hearing the timeframe they might arrive after their drive, Sam suggested stopping by his work (he worked evenings, apparently) and provided the address. And so they'd set off to meet the boy who'd decided that the Facebook profile picture he wanted to show to the world was a Batman panel with a speech bubble crudely edited to hold a Chuck Norris joke.

As they drove in relative silence between bursts of football discussion, Blaine wondered exactly how big a nerd someone could be while still on a varsity team. Being that pathetically geeky might explain why this boy had slid under Lauren's radar. He didn't know how many students went to McKinley, and his views on school size were admittedly skewed after years away from public campuses at Dalton, but surely Lauren would remember most of the football players in their skintight pants, running plays that started with them bent over. He would. 

When he pulled onto the street with the right name, Blaine had expected to see a comic book store, or a game shop, or maybe the old standby of a fast food restaurant as Sam's employer. He hadn't expected a seedy, windowless bar with a flickering neon sign. 

"Bouncer," Lauren immediately said. "You can't be a bartender until you're twenty-one, but I bet a football player can find work as a bouncer. That's what I'm probably gonna do to make some extra money in Wisconsin."

"Makes sense," Blaine said as they got out; he clicked his car lock twice, to make sure it had closed. He didn't like the looks of this parking lot. "And it explains why he works evenings. Although you'd think they'd like to hire an adult, still. There could be liability issues."

"I think he's eighteen."

"I meant a drinking-age adult."

"Uh huh," Lauren said, and smirked. "Are we gonna stand out here all night, or are you going to finally suck it up and risk getting some cigarette smoke on that fancy shirt of yours?"

"This shirt is not fancy," Blaine said as they walked toward the door. He owned fancy shirts. A basic short-sleeve shirt was not fancy; now, perhaps he should have left off the tie, but he wanted to make a good impression.

"It has buttons," she said like that explained everything. 

He didn't bother replying as they walked inside. There was a bartender, but this was not a bar. An already tipsy bachelorette party hollered from a large table near the door. Although there was no one on the low stage opposite them, it was impossible to miss. Taking in the poles on the stage and the money the women were pulling from their purses, Blaine paled. "We're in a strip club."

"Cool," Lauren grinned, looking around. With a wry smile, she asked, "Or are you going to get in trouble with Daddy Warbucks for coming here?" Hearing Dalton's tuition had been enough to cement her mental image of him. Even more than football on the drive up, he'd heard jabs about, well, his 'fancy' shirt and bowtie.

He shot her a sidelong look. "Actually, my dad doesn't know I'm in Kentucky," Blaine said, a dare to dismiss him once again as the less formidable party on this mission. "Ever since my laptop caught on fire and I gave a... creative explanation of what happened, he's been trying to see if he can file a lawsuit against the battery manufacturer. He loves consumer lawsuits."

"That sounds like a Daddy Warbucks sort of hobby," Lauren mused, and Blaine threw up his hands. "Fine, fine. So, where's Sam?" 

Both turned, searching for a bouncer, but the only likely-looking man was easily in his thirties. The bartender was young but female. "I don't know," Blaine said wryly, and bit his tongue before pointing out that she was the one who should be able to find her old classmate. "Keep an eye out for Batman, I suppose."

Ke$ha's Blow started blasting on the speakers. Blaine idly bobbed his head along to the familiar music before he realized that it must mean an imminent appearance from the club's dancers. "Come on," he said, "Sam's not in... here...." 

The rowdy bachelorette party suddenly made a lot more sense. Those were not female dancers coming out on stage, thrusting their pelvises in time to the pounding music. All three men were toned, gorgeous, and wearing shrink-wrapped clothes. Blaine's jaw dropped slightly as he watched the man in the cop outfit spin a billy club like it was attached to his groin, then as the man in a straining white shirt and black pants unbuttoned enough to show one pectoral muscle and promptly covered back up like he was some blushing schoolboy. _A missionary outfit_ , Blaine dazedly realized. _It's like a... Catholic schoolgirl._ He was distantly sure that such usage was highly appropriative and offensive, but it was difficult to care like he should. This was all... new.

The man in the center finished off the first surge of dancing. He was dressed as a stripper version of Captain America: an A-printed mask was over his head, he wore a tight blue singlet that matched Cap's uniform (where it actually covered him), and he carried a plastic version of the famous shield on one arm. After a few deep thrusts, he attached the shield to his belt; it bounced even more where it hung over his crotch, and sadly covered the view.

As one, the three men ripped off much of their tearaway outfits. Although the officer and missionary were still in tight briefs, the shield and belt were the only things that Captain America wore below his mask. Blaine felt Lauren's hand grab his wrist. The surprise forced him to breathe.

"Give me a twenty," Lauren said.

He ignored her. This was not a time to take one's eyes off the stage to hunt through a wallet. Wherever they'd wound up, it was an _excellent_ wrong turn. Both visitors watched the rest of the song with increasingly broad smiles, but when Captain America ripped off his mask at the very end of the song to reveal a blond head of hair to match Steve Rogers himself, Lauren grabbed Blaine's wrist again. "Oh," she said. "Now I remember him."

"That's Sam?" Blaine asked in disbelief. But... but Sam was supposed to be _Batman._

"C'mon," Lauren said with a grin. "Let's go make friends."

* * *

A finished set later, and with enough details about Sam's old town to intrigue the bouncer, he agreed to go backstage and see if Sam would talk to them. After that first song, Blaine had planted himself at the bar and methodically worked his way through a root beer, staring at the wall as he went. Lauren had no such reluctance to stop watching Sam before they went to talk to him, but Lauren didn't have to worry about making a first impression with a hard-on.

When they were ushered through an unmarked door, Blaine was glad he'd given himself the time to cool down. Sam was skimming well-worn jeans up his legs and fastening them around narrow hips, but made no move to pull a shirt on as he saw Lauren and grinned. "Hey!" he said, nodding to her. "How's Ohio?"

"A big giant meh," she said with a shrug.

"Sounds about right," Sam laughed. "Who's he?" he asked, jerking his chin toward Blaine.

"Oh, you wouldn't know him," Lauren said before Blaine could respond. "He goes to this hoity toity private school for princes and shit."

Blaine tried to cut in again, but Sam was already nodding. "That explains the shirt."

This was ridiculous. It was barely even a nice shirt; it was just starched and ironed. "We mislead you about why we wanted to talk," Blaine said, wanting to get to the point. "We don't actually have something of yours from the football coach at McKinley."

Sam frowned uncertainly. With his prominent mouth, what might have been slight hesitation on someone else plastered wariness across him in a thousand-watt sign. "Okay, then why are you here?" His eyes flicked back to Lauren. If not for remembering her from McKinley—and Blaine supposed that she would strike a memorable figure in the hallway, towering above most and expecting a path to be cleared—Sam looked like he might well have called for the bouncer.

Exchanging a glance, Lauren and Blaine took a step back. "You think we should just go for it?" Lauren murmured.

"His Facebook profile is Batman and his dancing outfit is Captain America. I think he'll be pretty amenable to a discussion about superheroes."

In full agreement, Lauren nodded and stepped close again to Sam. "So here's the deal: a bunch of wannabe superheroes from another world—"

"Or something like that," Blaine added.

"—Got in touch with the two of us and want us to do some digging for them. Apparently they know us there, and they know you, too."

Sam's eyes were very big, but he gave no indication that he disbelieved them, nor wanted them to stop.

"I thought it all sounded stupid until a special agent broke into my house and tried to shoot me in the middle of the night," Lauren said. "After that, I was like, wow, there's some real X-Files going down, here."

"I'm guessing it's the same woman who destroyed my laptop before I could use it to find any more information," Blaine added. "I walked back into my room and it was being set to overheat remotely. And I mean... I'm talking the flames sort of 'overheating.'" He inhaled and exhaled. "Something big is happening, and I believe that they need our help. They're based in New York, or were... I didn't totally understand that when I talked to them, but it sounds like they're in Los Angeles, now."

"So we need to go to New York," Sam said without hesitation.

Blaine and Lauren blinked. "I don't think that was one of the multiple choice answers, dude," Lauren slowly said. "We just wanted to see if you saw any strange things going down in Lima before you left. And with that woman tracking us, it wasn't like we could just give you a call; we'd probably get cut off or hauled into jail. That's what the heroes asked us to do: talk to you. That was it." 

"Guys, nothing happens in L.A.," Sam protested. He pulled on a t-shirt as he talked, muffling some of his words. It looked like it had been slept in for several nights in a row; maybe that was why he'd made fun of Blaine's shirt. "Things are only starting to pick up there now that there's a power vacuum. Don't you read any of the metahuman blogs?"

"I can honestly say that I didn't know those existed," Blaine said. 

Sam rolled his eyes. "You guys can't say that you've _never_ read No Capes! or Behind the Masks or Spandex vs. Leather." He looked appalled at their blank reactions. "Z-Men?"

"Semen?" Blaine repeated, shocked. Why was that a blog title? He was standing next to a Captain America stripper and might have had a fantasy or two about that superpowered boy he knew nothing about except his voice and a few teasing details; this was not the time to bring up a superhero porn site. His mind would go places. Fast.

"Z-Men," Sam said more emphatically. "Do you know how many heroes are out there that aren't on the big teams everyone knows, like the X-Men? Who don't have their own buildings or t-shirts or news segments? This helps to showcase the heroes no one knows about, that are doing good, too."

"I know where your mind is," Lauren said to Blaine, smirking.

Whatever. They should have tried saying their blog name before they registered a domain for it. 

"I'm guessing your heroes are Z-Men fodder," Sam said, as much as Blaine wanted him to stop saying that name. "So they're not going to have a ton of help, even if they are important. If these guys are in Los Angeles, they're in the wrong spot."

"This really isn't what we came here for," Blaine said. "I... we can't go to New York, are you crazy?" They were supposed to pick Sam's brain for any strange appearances or events that those heroes might be able to make something of. They were not supposed to leap into action themselves, as if they had superpowers just waiting to throw around.

"You're the ones who came here talking to me about superheroes and secret agents trying to kill you, and all of a sudden 'New York City' is the crazy topic?" Sam asked pointedly. He grabbed his bag out of a locker and smiled hugely. "I promise you, if we go to New York, we'll find something. If a bunch of actual superpowered heroes want you to work with them, and there are alternate timelines or worlds, then we will find something in New York. That's how it works."

"I did not sign up for this," Lauren said flatly.

"Did you sign up for working to barely cover rent each month?" Sam asked. "Or maybe having this big idea about all the stuff you'd do in college, but then it just... didn't happen like you planned? Or school could work out like you want, but the only job you can find is a nine to five that makes you want to punch a cubicle wall just... just so something different will happen." Under his torrent of frustration, Blaine and Lauren exchanged another glance but stayed quiet. No, Blaine had never pictured something like that for his life. His father had gotten into the school he wanted and made partner by forty-two. He suspected Lauren crushed even the vague concept of failure under her hand like an ant. Sam, though, sounded like he knew of what he spoke, and was even more confident when he finished, "This is the _call_ , guys. This is Gandalf coming to the Shire. R2D2 showing Luke the Leia hologram. Ned hearing the letter that said the Lannisters murdered Jon Arryn!"

Sam's Facebook picture made an awful lot of sense by this point. Blaine rubbed his eyes. Lauren looked like Sam was speaking an especially obscure dialect of ancient Greek.

"Was this going to be your big adventure?" Sam asked, gesturing to the room around them. The lockers for the employees had paint chips missing, and the overhead light flickered. Dead gnats dotted the glass bowl under its bulb. "You drive from Ohio to Kentucky, ask me a few questions, and drive home?"

"I... yes," Blaine said helplessly. Wasn't that what he was supposed to do? It was all Kurt had wanted... right? _And you want to do what that boy who said you could be married wants you to do,_ a taunting voice sing-songed. He really was in a bad state after Sebastian, between thinking that much about a voice on the phone and acting so ridiculous over Sam's performance. 

"This is our chance to be someone," Sam said. "I'm not going to let it pass by. My folks'll be fine with me taking a trip with someone from McKinley. They think I've been working too hard this summer, anyway, because we needed... they think I've been working too much."

Blaine opened and closed his mouth. This was stupid. Why did he want to go along with it, then? "I can tell my parents that I'm looking at schools in the city. They'll think I'm taking the initiative before applications this fall!" Oh. Well. He was in, then. 

"Oh god," Lauren said, rolling her neck back until she was looking at the ceiling. After a long sigh, her head snapped forward again and she looked at them through narrowed eyes. "Fine. I want to kick that blonde chica's ass for trying to tell me what to do, and I know she'd hate this. Besides, you two idiots probably need a bodyguard in a big city."

What was supposed to be a simple investigative visit with a return to Ohio thus turned into an overnight trek to New York City, with a detour to Sam's house before they swung back up for spare clothes and toiletries for Blaine and Lauren. Just as Sam had predicted, his parents seemed thrilled at the idea of him taking a break to just go have _fun_. "They don't know I work there," Sam said to the unasked question as they headed north, back toward Lima. "But Dad couldn't find a job as good as his old one, and we needed the money, and I'm just really glad I decided to go for tryouts that night."

Uncertain of how to respond, Blaine frowned out at the dark road. If Sam was hiding his employment from his parents, then surely he had to know that it wasn't something anyone would choose to do, but then he sounded almost proud of it by the time he finished. "We won't judge you for how you make money," he settled on.

It seemed to be the wrong thing to say. Sam's mood moved through the car like dark fog. "Well, that's good, considering that I'm not embarrassed about it. I work hard and I make good money. If I didn't work hard, I wouldn't. And it's made a difference for my family."

Another few miles rolled under their tires. "You seem to really want to make a difference," Blaine said neutrally.

"Doesn't everyone?" Sam asked, as even-tempered as before. "Doesn't everyone want to feel like they count?"

Blaine said nothing, and risked looking at Lauren in the passenger's seat. Her profile was drawn tight, considering, and he turned back to the windshield. "Yeah," Blaine said softly. His brow drew together as he remembered being tossed away by everyone after a loss at Nationals, and how one short conversation had made him feel like none of that had happened. "I guess they do."

* * *

When Sue Sylvester hauled these snot-nosed brats back to New York and demanded that they explain themselves to both her and their parents, she expected an awful lot of whining. While she loved a healthy dose of fear in her targets, she hated whining. Whining wasn't winning: that was a phrase she'd commissioned in needlepoint and hung on her office wall, hand-stitched on the cured hide of an alien invader who'd thought he could ruin her twenty-eighth birthday.

Unfortunately, she'd gotten involved with teenagers, and teenagers specialized in whining like Italy specialized in wine and overpriced leather goods. What had looked like a serious conspiracy at first glance had, with only some minor digging, turned into something potentially much stupider. That Anderson kid hadn't taken the hint from his laptop fire, and had sent off another text right after Sue delivered that helpful warning. The text was easily traced to Kurt Hutton in Los Angeles, CA, 90006. And Kurt Hutton's parents worked for the same organization that Sue did: S.H.I.E.L.D.

All of Kurt's Facebook friends did, when she looked at those he'd added before this past summer. Every single one of them had gone to a government school on the taxpayer's teat, and they'd decided to repay their nation through a conspiracy to unearth one of its finest agents. Sue didn't know what was going on, but she didn't like it. She didn't like not knowing what was going on, either. These kids had been handed every privilege in life; why had they scampered off to Los Angeles like some sort of adorable movie tramp and started causing trouble for their parents' work? Could these rebels truly want such a petty cause as that?

Sue lowered her binoculars as she sat across from the identified apartment building and took a thoughtful bite of her burrito. The building looked like any worn-out construction she might see in that town, lined with doors scuffed with bootmarks and surrounded by cars that had little in them for even the most opportunistic thief to steal. She didn't know the Huttons personally, but she'd looked them up, and they had a very nice apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. Why leave that for this? Shaking her head, Sue adjusted her earpiece and held up the directional microphone resting on the passenger seat. After a few mistargets with a telenovela and a couple enjoying themselves in the late afternoon, she found who she was aiming for.

"Oh my gosh, you guys, it's Sam!" said a female voice. Sue's eyes flicked to the computer still resting on the seat. It scrolled through all people known to be in the United States and soon settled on Mercedes Jones. Her vocal sample, DNA readings, and every other piece of information S.H.I.E.L.D. might want from her had been gathered surreptitiously during her schooling, and so it was an easy match. Frowning, Sue brought up the call and listened in; although the cell phone said it belonged to Lauren Zizes, the man's voice on the line was identified after some work as Samuel Evans. These Ohio kids weren't in the system as deeply as the government spawn.

"We're going to New York," Sam said proudly.

"Wait, what?" Mercedes asked. "Guys, did we tell them they needed to go to New York?"

"No, I definitely did not!" said Kurt, according to the computer. Sue's eyebrow raised; distinctive voice. "Sam, tell Blaine that I don't want him to get in trouble with his parents, okay? He doesn't need to go to New York for me."

"Blaine, Kurt doesn't want you to get in trouble with your parents and you don't need to go to New York for him."

A tiny noise on the call, enhanced, was some sort of pleased sigh. Sue frowned.

Sam laughed at whatever had happened at the other end of the call. Sue brought up the phone's camera on her screen, but saw only a cheekbone and a dark sliver of Eastern Time Zone night beyond it. Useless. "No, it's okay. We're doing this on our own. There has to be something you've missed in New York, because everything is in New York. Do you guys have any idea of who we could call?"

"Well," Mercedes began hesitantly, "there's this group called X-Factor—"

"In Mutant Town!" Sam said.

"Er. Um, yes, them. They were helping us before, sort of, and they're investigators, so they can help you find things." Mercedes swallowed. "Sam... but be careful, okay? Mutant Town can be dangerous, and I don't want you to get hurt."

Sam seemed to hear something in her voice. "Why? Do you know me from that other world, like you knew these other guys?"

"I... yeah. We... we kind of were dating. A little."

Sam laughed. "I was dating a superhero! Now I definitely have to go to New York!"

"Smooth," said a new voice. The computer brought up Artie Abrams. "Sam, I just looked on X-Factor's website. There was this creepy demon dude that Mercedes killed a few days ago. Well, whoever called that one has called a second one. And _maybe_ a third, with the number of attacks." A chorus of dismay rang out behind him. "If it's like the first, it's stalking Mutant Town and looking for an easy target. So be super careful, okay?"

"We will!" Sam said. He actually sounded excited about the idea of a supernatural killer breathing down his neck, and since when could some random scientists' brat kill a summoned demon stalking Manhattan? That was Sue's territory. 

Kurt got back on the line. "Sam Evans, you will not take the three of you into Mutant Town to face down a killer!" When Sam protested, he said in a huff, "Hold the phone up to Blaine." A beat, then, "Blaine, promise me you won't go into Mutant Town? Please?"

"Maybe we shouldn't," said Blaine, his voice already identified in Sue's system.

A rustling. "Oh my god, dude, shape up," Sam said, having reclaimed the phone.

Noise came from the other end. "Hey, Trouty Mouth. You don't know me," said Santana Lopez, "but I remember you and the way that you look like an animated fish trying to find your lost son. If you want to go into Mutant Town, there's an easy way. Find someone selling MGH and take some."

"What's that?"

"It's a really cheap drug that gives you superpowers. You might get a couple of side effects while you're taking it, but it'll fade after you stop. Don't worry, we're, like, experts on it by now. It's completely safe."

"Where can I find it?" Sam asked uncertainly. "It sounds awesome, but I don't know where to buy anything like that."

Hesitating, Santana's voice fell away in favor of someone new on the line: Noah Puckerman. The hair on his profile photo was _terrible_. "Hey Evans, did you ever touch a girl's boob in this world or are you still just jacking off to your Sixty of Nine poster?"

"Seven of Nine, and shut up. Who is this?" For all his offended words, Sam actually sounded _happy_ to be called a pathetic fish-lipped loser who yanked his teenage weasel to outdated science-fiction television. Sue didn't understand people. She was sure that she could, if she bothered to study their insignificant little minds, but she just had so many more important things to do, like cleaning her guns and toppling dictators.

"Puck. I work at the docks here, and when I started asking around there were tons of dealers. I worked at the docks in Red Hook in that other place, so I can give you some employees' names. They won't know me, but if you tell them a friend sent you and you've got a name to go to, I bet you can find someone who deals." He rattled off a few names; Sue entered them into her computer, and sure enough, all but one worked at a shipping dock in Brooklyn. The last one was marked as deceased; he'd probably been doing something in Manhattan, as his date of death was the famous day that the General Assembly exploded. While it was doubtful that he'd been anywhere near the U.N., more than a few people had been killed in the panic that rippled out from the site. People who thought a cattle stampede was dangerous had never seen people running—or worse, driving—in absolute terror.

"Please be careful," Kurt said again, having apparently grabbed the phone. "Tell... just, all of you, be careful."

"We will," Sam said. "We'll probably want more info when we get to the city, so can we call you then?"

"Of course. We'll all have our phones on. I'll text Blaine the numbers for everyone. Please don't hesitate, and stay away from... whatever it is that Artie was talking about."

"It looks like a walking fiery shadow thing, and it is scary," Mercedes said, seizing the phone again. "Be careful. Someone's calling these things, and who knows what else he can do? Oh! Sam. I just remembered. Oh wow, I just remembered this. I... guys, do you mind? I can't tell this to him with everyone around."

After a few beats, in which Sue finished her burrito and leaned closer to the windshield, Mercedes continued quietly, "Sam, if you need help, go to the Daily Bugle's building. The newspaper. Ask for Peter Parker."

"Okay. Who's Peter Parker?"

"You worked with him there. You were a gofer running around the city, and he was a photographer."

"Okay...."

"And he's...." Mercedes' voice dropped further. "He's Spider-Man."

_"You know who Spider-Man is?"_ Sam squealed. "Guys! I just learned who Spider-Man is!"

"Shhh!" Mercedes said as Sue, frowning, brought up the profile of the person she'd described. That pathetic geekboy was Spider-Man? They were really letting anyone be a superhero nowadays. No wonder these halfwits thought that they could do the job. "You can't tell anyone, okay? I don't know exactly how I know that, but I do, and however I learned it might be dangerous, either to him or you guys. Just be careful."

"We will," Sam promised. A pause. "You sound pretty."

"Why, do you only date pretty girls?" Mercedes laughed like it was a light-hearted accusation, but Sam turned it around on her.

"So far, so I'm sure you fit right in. Hopefully I get to meet you soon?"

She sounded like she was smiling. Sue wanted to vomit up the burrito she'd just finished. "That'd be nice, Sam."

"Were we serious?"

"Sometimes. We had friends who were racing toward... everything like their rear ends were on fire, but we took it at a pace that worked for us. And it did work. We were happy."

"Well... okay," Sam laughed. Although his voice was muffled as he turned from the phone, it was a simple job to correct the audio. "Blaine, dude, sorry for giving you crap. I totally get it, now. It just... sounds right. Feels right."

"Oh god," muttered Lauren in the background. "They'd better not go all gooey romantic for the whole drive. I want to get some sleep."

"We'll be in New York by tomorrow," Sam promised, turning back. "We're going to drive overnight and take shifts. We'll talk to you guys then. Tell everyone bye!"

They hung up, but Sue listened a few beats longer until she determined that the conversation that started up again was largely frivolous. So. The S.H.I.E.L.D. brats were taking illegal drugs and colluding with extragovernmental agencies and the media in order to put their plan into effect. This might be a serious conspiracy, after all. If they were from some other timeline, which was possible, then they were probably trying to merge this world back with that one, or simply destroy this one entirely. It was a good thing that the idiot principal in Ohio had done such a thorough job of searching for Sue; he'd alerted her to a problem that the government would have overlooked entirely, otherwise. 

Checking her gun, Sue glanced instinctively in her rearview mirror and narrowed her eyes at the readings it gave. A car at the far end of the block was throwing off a lot of heat; although it looked parked there, it was idling despite the pleasant weather. Someone was watching in this direction, and they were either ready to move on these conspirators... or on her. If she'd been found out by one group, it was possible that she'd been found out by another, and Sue didn't intend to let them get the jump on her. Recording its license plates into her computer, Sue slowly eased her car forward and watched to see what they would do: nothing. Their attention stayed focused past her, upon the apartment building.

When the computer sharpened and identified the two blurry faces behind the windshield, Sue smirked. Oh, this would be fun. 

Right, then. She wasn't about to have someone else beat her to this group. Sue circled the block, weaving through traffic at speeds just low enough to keep from being followed by a choir of angry honks, and smirked again when the tracked license plate still sat there when she made the turn. _Sorry, gentlemen,_ Sue thought as she slammed on the brakes, pulled up hard on the emergency lever, and rolled into a crouch as the door opened. _You picked the wrong day to mess with Sue Sylvester's work._ Their tires near the sidewalk sagged with her two perfect shots. _That day is: any._

A man lunged out of the driver's seat, and for a few heartbeats Sue actually found herself in danger. He knew what he was doing with that gun in his hand and knife from his other sleeve, and dodging the slices and thrusts toward her exposed neck and face nearly gave him time to bring up the steel barrel. Sue quickly broke his wrist—he was well trained, but not better than her—and drew him around in time to serve as a human shield. The other man didn't hesitate as he climbed out of the passenger's seat and took his shots. One nearly grazed Sue's cheekbone; the nerve of his man. He fell to a bullet in his throat and shoulder, and Sue finished off her living shield with a quick thrust of his own knife between two vertebrae. 

Just as she'd expected, a quick examination of the man's arm above his wrist turned up an intricate tattoo. The other man's arm was no less covered. Not only had these brats gotten themselves involved in a conspiracy to hop between worlds, but they had apparently pissed off organized crime on a global scale. Who would pay them a visit next, every mobster in Moscow? God only knew what they'd left behind in New York. Maybe they'd made weekend visits to Ozone Park and slapped some people around for the hell of it.

Sue popped the car's trunk and locked the two Yakuza corpses inside it. This attack was a rule violation, given that she hadn't been defending herself, but S.H.I.E.L.D. had databases of dangerous known agents across the U.S., from Mafia to Triad. These two had escaped prosecution for human trafficking on a mere technicality. Sue felt no guilt over cramming them into that trunk; she was sure they hadn't felt any guilt over loading desperate runaways onto a boat that wasn't taking them to a promised safehouse in San Francisco. She'd call the car to be towed later, to a special lot. The government had places where it put things that it didn't want anyone to see.

Her eyes narrowed again as she studied the street around her. If anyone had heard those gunshots, no one was coming to look. This was a nasty place under its veneer of bright paint, yet a bunch of pampered teenagers who'd just left their high-paid tutors had somehow wound up in it, drawing the attention of one of the most powerful criminal organizations in the world _and_ sucking poor rubes from Ohio into their mad plan.

She did not have time for this shit.

She had absolutely _no_ time for this shit, Sue repeated angrily as she set off into a steady jog that ate up the distance between her and the apartment building. At a glance she looked official, if not outright military, and most traffic drew to a stop when she hurried across the intersection without waiting for the light. One car tried to nose forward, honking, but stopped when she patted the dark gun hanging on her dark-clad hip. It quieted.

All of Washington was abuzz with how close the world was to outright war; it could be a matter of hours, despite what they were feeding the press. Sue might be needed to stop nukes from going off in major cities, and that concern had drawn her here to Los Angeles before she realized she had instead stumbled across an especially violent episode of Blue's Clues with these idiot children. She wanted to get this resolved, send the children back on their way to New York, and focus on the important things: killing people toting suitcase nukes and dirty bombs instead of just random criminals, and dealing with a war in this world instead of some other timeline. She had _priorities_.

She took the stairs with gun drawn. Her steps slowed as she hit the second level and she stalked toward the targeted apartment like some great mountain lion. Again noting footprints on the doors, and then the bars over the windows, Sue nodded. This was a place used to people trying to break in. Mounting an all-out assault would work, but if these kids were jacked up on MGH and all the rage or impulsive behavior it usually caused in anyone short of Mother Teresa, she didn't want to give them warning _and_ get their hackles up. As strange as it seemed, the better option might well be to announce her presence openly.

Holding her gun behind her back and standing to the side, where she would be difficult to make out in the peephole, Sue knocked.

"Hello?" asked a muffled voice; she didn't know whose. "I don't know who it is. She looks serious; maybe she wants to tell us something?"

"Maybe it's something about the girls!" said Kurt, Sue thought it was. "Open it!"

Locks turned, a chain moved, and the door opened. The young man there was taller than Sue; not many people were, especially in her thick combat boots. He looked pale, like the pathetic video game-playing homebody he probably was, and was hooking sunglasses over his ears like the worst California stereotype imaginable. His arm was in a cast, but Sue didn't relax; if he had MGH coursing through his veins, that might mean little.

"Sue," said the young man, startled, and a grin spread across his face. "You guys, it's Sue!"

Wait. No, no, this was not how things were supposed to go. Sue eyed the door warily as a whole host of snot-nosed teenagers clustered around the door and stared as if they _liked_ her.

"You're here," said the tall boy. "You're... you're here, and you're not... you're _here!_ "

"I'm here," Sue said. Her eyes flicked between the group, recording each face: the fanged girl with purple streaks in her hair, the boy with his arm around her scantily-clad waist. Three gorgeous girls who looked downright _happy_ to see her; one was Santana, but she didn't recognize the others, as they'd never spoken. There were those others she'd seen on her computer's profiles. Noah Puckerman's terrible hair, and a rather different-looking Kurt Hutton. Mercedes Jones, unchanged. Artie Abrams, smiling far too broadly for her taste.

The pale boy in front of her laughed breathlessly, and itched the side of his temple as he jerked somewhere between surprise and pain. "I did it. There was a scab. I pulled it off too hard. I still need to practice. I'll practice on Kurt, but I remember now how I... I'm just so happy I didn't kill you!" he said, and lunged forward. On her guard, Sue would have easily stepped away, but these kids had her unsettled and he was able to reach his mark. 

Whoever this teenaged lug was, he was _hugging_ her.

For the first time in her living memory, Sue Sylvester knew fear.


	16. Connections

After a few shallow breaths that failed to center Sue's off-kilter universe, the towering manchild was still hugging her. Worse, a few of the other children had clustered around and flung their arms into the mix like she was some sort of costumed theme park mascot. On a razor-edged balance between panic and outrage, Sue forced them away from her and shouted, "Off! Off! I'll taze you and I'll like it."

They actually looked at each other and _laughed_ , like she was _charming_. Sue's face twisted with disbelief.

"How did you find us?" asked a blonde girl. She looked like a Stepford wife.

"I sometimes think Coach Sylvester has magic powers like that witch in The Sword in the Stone," said the other, lanky blonde, whose tank top bore some sort of psychedelic giraffe. "I'm pretty sure that one day she might turn into a dragon."

"Coach?" Sue repeated. What the hell was going on? Why were these children acting like they weren't afraid of her? Everyone was afraid of her! The Pope still worried that she might kneecap him!

"Kurt, do you have any smoothie ingredients?" asked Santana as she headed for the kitchen. Sue was thankful that she knew some names, at least, from her work at checking these pint-sized criminals' profiles. It was easier to have at least a few specific labels, because trying to settle on the single perfect nickname for that pale kid with the skyscraper hair could have kept her mind so busy that it locked up entirely. "Sue looks pissed, we'd better make her one."

"I'll start grinding up some aspirin and dried pepper flakes," Kurt agreed. "I think there's some lime juice in the fridge."

"Do you have any turkey?"

"Only beef."

How did they know her secret protein and energy smoothie recipe?

Stepford wife and towering manchild led Sue into the apartment. She was too confused to resist. They didn't seem threatening, exactly, and yet she fretted as they sat her down on the couch. None of them appeared ready to pull out the powers they might have ingested from those MGH pills. They were all staring at her with the dull happiness of cows in a field, from Artie the insubstantial wheelchair jockey to nameless smiling pushover Asian boy. That was what had her so off balance. When a world-class S.H.I.E.L.D. agent with a tightly locked-down past showed up at your door, you didn't smile at her like a long-lost friend, and you did not know the exact smoothie to make for her.

This was a lot weirder than she'd expected from spy networks in a little town in Ohio, and even from the Yakuza parked outside their door.

Belatedly, Sue realized that they were talking to her. She cursed internally. She seldom missed a single detail, and here these children had been telling her what she wanted to know? They really had her off her game. "One at a time," she snapped. "I can't hear any of you when you're all yakking at me like hyenas with mange." There, that would mask her inattention. "First, tell me who the hell you all are, and then _one person_ , fill me in."

After a quick runthrough of their names, Quinn stepped forward. Sue vaguely liked her from this short exposure; well, she hated her the least. It was probably because the memories of her own high school yearbook photo said that she'd been a dead ringer for this girl, and her memories were always flawlessly accurate and unbiased. "All right, Coach Sylvester. We got memories back of living in another world. We were hidden in that world, too, and you were the agent assigned to protect us. This time, we think we're supposed to do something to help save this world... or that one."

"Save it from what?"

"We don't know," Quinn admitted. Sue stared at her flatly and Quinn pointed at Finn. With a sour look, Sue waited.

"We really don't know," Finn said. "We honestly don't! We might be supposed to stop the war, or... or something...." Resisting the urge to slap him took work, but Sue's glare still made him go even paler behind his convenience store sunglasses. Much more color loss, and he might start looking like that freakish smoothie-maker with the snow white skin and glow-stick eyes. Well, Sue allowed, better their mutations than the furry tail twitching behind Tina’s rump. At least the boys could mostly cover theirs with Ray-Bans and spray-on tans.

"We already stopped a demon serial killer," Artie said proudly.

"You mean that me and Quinn did," Mercedes said. An argument commenced. 

Their ramblings about some simple serial killer barely penetrated Sue's awareness. Stop the war? These children were insane. Yes, the world was a sneeze away from war, but that was the sort of thing that S.H.I.E.L.D. was designed to handle. In fact, it was: from Manila to Munich to Mexico City, agents were infiltrating governments and spy networks, fending off more disturbances like the South Asian riots, and preparing assassination attempts on any world leaders who might cause a little too much trouble in the meantime. If all of that didn't work, then they'd be recalled for American interests: national defense, attacks on the nation's worst enemies, and occasional personnel loans to those obnoxious friendly nations with whom Washington had to play nice. Ugh. Sue wanted to punch Canada and the United Kingdom in the nose. (At least she'd been able to take out some aggression on Daniel Radcliffe on her last trip overseas. His hair in Goblet of Fire was a war crime.)

That was the sort of work that stopped global warfare, not the clueless, aimless fumblings of a gaggle of teenaged morons who'd had the temerity to hug Sue Sylvester upon meeting her. She'd tracked these kids down because having her cover blown in a deliberately forgettable backwater town seemed to scream that S.H.I.E.L.D.'s defenses had been breached by some other intelligence agency. For once in her life, Sue was wrong: intelligence was clearly nowhere in this equation.

Ready to scream for silence, Sue instead took a fortifying drink of her smoothie when it was pressed into her hand. Satisfying, meaty. With the protein and iron bolstering her frayed nerves, she began, "Let me get this straight. You're stealing from the Yakuza, spying on secret government agents, and getting witless Midwestern hicks to cover for you... and you _don't even know_ what you're supposed to be doing?"

Her utter disdain quieted them. Artie studied his feet, Santana picked at a fingernail, and Tina's tail twitched even after she slammed her hand down on its end. Brittany was the first to speak up. "Does anyone ever really know what they're doing? Once I thought I was chasing Iron Man so I could get his autograph but it turned out that it was just a plane landing at JFK. I nearly wound up flying to Amsterdam." Nodding at Brittany, the rest of the group gladly followed her lead: they were feeling their way through the dark, they were just kids, no one could expect them to know everything.

As her trigger finger twitched, Sue wondered if their parents would miss them if she turned a gun on the entire place. _No, Sylvester. Calm down. You can't solve every problem through killing people. Operations talked to you and said you could only solve seventy-eight percent that way. And you already crammed two bodies in a trunk earlier._ "Talk," she seethed. "I refuse to believe you've caused this much trouble out of sheer incompetence instead of finely-honed malice. That is reserved for one George Walker Bush and let me tell you, you all look a lot more like Dick Cheneys."

"Hey!" Santana snapped. Surprised at her hostility, the others turned to her. She explained, "Um, did you not just hear her call us a bunch of dicks?"

"Dick Cheney," Quinn said.

"I remember him on the news. Same dif."

With a careful throat clearing, Artie said, "Guys? Sue's getting that nuclear look on her face. We might want to get to the point before she blows."

"There are four seals to break," Finn said hurriedly. "And an anchor to latch onto, and a chain to pull with. All of those are supposed to work together and then we can save our other world. And that world is awesome, because Santana and Brittany have their own TV show and Rachel doesn't live in London and I get to live in Kurt's really nice condo in an office."

"You have to break four seals," Sue repeated. "That is not a mission statement. That is the plot to a Peter Jackson movie."

"It's what the psychic in Venice told us," Santana said, shrugging. "The anchor is something that 'always exists,' so whatever the chain... rope thing is, it just needs to latch onto it and pull us back into that other world. It sounds pretty doable, and then I'll have my own TV show back. And we'll all be in a world that's not about to break out into World War III," she added grudgingly when a few of her friends coughed.

Truth be told, the basic premise wasn't the most implausible thing that Sue had ever heard, although it was more likely that they were all just drunk. She’d faced aliens, mad scientists, and the unfortunate fallout of the Human Torch trying to skywrite something to his latest crush. If these brats were being kept out of their true world, there had to be something keeping them latched in place here, and that needed to be cleared away before they could go home. Whether it was tied up in the looming war, or they'd just told themselves that in order to feel more important, something had to happen before they could latch onto that target. But the _vagueness_ was maddening. Constructing a nuclear power station was a plausible goal, too, but not if the only instructions one had going in were 'make the green, glowy stuff really hot' and 'there should probably be water inside, I think.'

"She's thinking," Mike whispered loudly as Sue retreated into her thoughts.

Mercedes nodded. "Stay quiet, we don't want to bug her. She's stopped looking ready to hit us for a sec."

Sue scowled and they shut up entirely. Yes, she told herself again, what they'd said was plausible... but only if she accepted their initial premise. That was the sticking point, wasn't it? Wasn't it convenient that these kids sought a world where everything was better in their lives than they were now? Could such a place truly exist?

That world might be real. Sue could accept that much, and the accompanying need to release whatever glue was keeping them in this world. But a deeper, more skeptical part of her that had been long-honed by work as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent kept circling around another explanation, the same one she’d had while sitting in her car: they were going to _create_ that world that was so perfect for them, even if they had to shatter this one in the process.

Her hand twitched toward a trigger again. As the children seemed to pick up on her tension and began speaking nervously among themselves, Sue ran through the options with a cold agent's assessment. A few of them tried to ask her things, but she ignored them. 

Yes, the suspicions she’d had earlier returned, sharper than ever. If they were indeed innocent and managed to go home, then only these few children would benefit from the trip. But, if they were lying and were going to create this other universe wholecloth to suit them, then they might kill every person on Earth in the process of making that new world. These children might be supposed to save the world... or they might be ready to destroy it.

Could she really believe that they knew her from there? A smoothie recipe wasn't _impossible_ to know, and the rest of what they'd said was all lies about cheerleading. Cheerleading! Absurd. Her eyes narrowed, and although she kept her hand off the gun, it was ready to grab the weapon. "Convince me again," Sue said slowly, with not even a tiny sliver of imminent murder, "that you know me." 

The children began to speak, unaware of how their answers weighed on their ability to leave that building in a car rather than a body bag. Through most of their first attempts, it was barely more than white noise: a glee club, some girl named Becky, countless trophies. Her hand twitched again toward her gun.

"Did you get to spend more time with your sister before she died?" Kurt asked, after Finn had finished describing Sue's constant attacks on some man named William. William sounded obnoxious. "I remember you took the Ohio mission because you would get to spend time with Jean there. I mean... if she died. Maybe she's not dead here."

Sue froze at the mention of her sister as her mind filled with the vision of a tiny funeral, quiet and stark. Sue had been on a mission when Jean died, and S.H.I.E.L.D. had organized a basic family service on her behalf: no frills, no customizations, nothing to give any personality to the ceremony at all. How could they? The only person in Jean's life was undercover in Istanbul when she passed away, and Sue just barely made it back home in time to hear a sermon given by a man who'd never met Jean, then nod mutely at the few people from the hospital in attendance. Her sister had deserved better. So much better. "She's dead," Sue finally managed.

"I'm sorry," Kurt said, and he actually sounded sincere. Even more unbelievably, so did the echoes from the rest of the group, Finn in particular.

Something in Sue's heart disarmed. She blinked hard, and her hand moved away from her holster. "You knew Jean?" she asked them in disbelief.

"No," Artie admitted. "I never met her, and I don't think anyone else did. But we sang at her funeral. We were in a choir together, and you were... long story, but we sang for her."

"You were at her funeral and you sang for her," Sue repeated.

"I helped decorate it," Tina said, smiling. Her tail had stopped lashing. "A lot of uth did." She grimaced at her fangy lisp and started practicing the letter S.

Again, Sue pictured a plain black casket against plain white walls. That image faded. All of this was so perfectly designed to unsettle her that she couldn't help but suspect that they were doing it on purpose. Something inside of her grew hot, ready to burst into open anger if they stepped wrong... or collapse into actual, vulnerable emotions if they spoke right. "What did you sing?"

"The song from Willy Wonka," Kurt said. "Finn and I were helping you clean her room, and you said she loved the movie, and... do you know the one I mean?" He quietly sang the first few words of Pure Imagination, and Finn, Tina, and Artie all stepped in to a song they'd clearly practiced. "You seemed to like it," he said hesitantly when Sue didn't reply.

"She did love that movie," Sue agreed after a long pause. Her voice surprised her when it didn't shake, which was fortunate; it would have given away how close she was to tears at the image they'd just painted for her. 

With that, she accepted their words. She doubted even the KGB would know that obscure detail about her sister, even if someone were trying to find intel. And no one would come ready to sing Pure Imagination in four-part harmony. Not even Putin would force his agents into that humiliation. "All right. You're from another world." If anyone here had known her sister like that, they would have been at that funeral. That room wouldn't have been empty and Jean wouldn't have gone to sleep under the monotone lullaby of a boilerplate sermon. That world they wanted to go home to really was a better place. A deep, long breath centered her, and Sue shoved her sister out of her mind. She had the evidence she needed. She would focus on what needed to be done from this point on out. If these kids were telling the truth, then they would save the world. And, considering how they were idiots, they would need help.

"Coach Sylvester, are you really okay?" Brittany asked. "You look sad or sick or both."

"I am fine." She was. She would be. One more deep breath, and then she would be. She would work with these children, see in the process if they held some unforeseen power toward averting a war that Washington could capture and use to its benefit, and she would be _fine_. 

Seeking a distraction, Sue scowled at Tina. "Will you _please_ put some clothes on? I don't know what sort of twisted mutant orgy I walked in on, but I'd prefer it if you made this cathouse a little less literal." With that, the group slid into a more comfortable and far less emotional dynamic. What a relief.

Although Tina yanked her shirt back on, the skirt went on more reluctantly. She clearly hated how the fabric rode up over the thick tail coming from her backside, and kept brushing at where the material flipped up over it. As Tina struggled with her furry extremity and batted away Artie's attempts to better drape her clothing, Finn said, "We're not mutants." Behind his sunglasses, his amber eyes were faint coals through a dirty window.

With a tolerant smile, Sue said, "I realize that no one wants to sign themselves up for getting spit on more than Taylor Kitsch's career prospects, but perhaps you should take a little look in the mirror."

Kurt's glowing eyes narrowed. "It's just side effects from the MGH. We looked it up. And no," he added before she could comment, "we’re not _high_ right now." A few people looked guiltily between themselves, but most seemed to take his statement as truth. 

Sue said nothing, particularly about Kurt’s comment that they weren’t on the drug. He hadn't drawn a bad lot so far as these things went, despite irises like the Vegas Strip; none of the three with changes truly had. _No, four,_ Sue amended as she caught Mike's hair in the shifting light. It had taken on a distinct purple shade while they'd been talking, though it was still nearly as dark as before. As she saw that change in front of her, even though Mike hadn’t swallowed a pill since her arrival, her suspicions were confirmed.

She'd seen mutants ten feet tall who looked more like a Hollywood special effect than anything that had ever started off as human. More than a few kids had their bodies collapse in on themselves when their powers kicked in at puberty, and sometimes they even took out the people around them when they went. No, Kurt and Finn's almost elegant changes weren't anything to complain about next to those unfortunate souls, nor were Tina's fetishistic animal growths. 

But Sue knew what MGH side effects looked like, and these weren't them. 

Put a normal person on Mutant Growth Hormone and the single most reliable side effect, by far, was aggression. The stuff was addictive and could make someone as furious as if they were jacked up on PCP, but with the ability to fling fireballs or Escalades as they raged. If not for how tricky the drug could be to make in both high quantity and quality, shutting down MGH supply valves would be near the top of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s priorities, even with a war coming. Most of the supply on the streets had cheap fillers that gave weak powers or didn't even last a couple of hours, and so the drug only got real attention after a tragedy that topped the headlines for a day or two. The efforts were usually forgotten again just as quickly. Few cared about the types of people who would buy illegal drugs like MGH, and fewer still cared about where the MGH came from.

What MGH did not do was grow a cat tail on someone and leave it there. It did not change someone's ears or give them fangs, and although it could grant glowing eyes or changed skin or various other changes as part and parcel of certain powers, those effects faded when the powers did. It didn't leave eyes glowing when the people behind them weren't doing anything but sitting there, and it didn't bleach skin just for the hell of it. And it certainly didn’t turn someone’s hair purple when he hadn’t even swallowed a pill... not without building up mutagenic levels in his system that could never clear out. These kids had managed to mutate themselves, and she'd put good money on it being permanent. Sue hadn’t known it could happen—MGH abusers typically just wound up dead—but the effects seemed undeniable.

About half of all mutants showed any physical signs, by Sue's knowledge; she wondered if this group would end up with the same ratio when each person reached some triggering level of hormone in their system. Some might not change at all, or only as much as Mike, who would simply have to explain why he was growing purple hair from scalp to—she assumed—groin. Some might change as much as Tina or Kurt. Some poor soul might end up as that ten-foot-tall Hollywood effect.

And they had no idea. They had no idea that they were unique for avoiding the rage issues and addiction or for being changed physically like they'd always been mutants in the first place. Nor did they have any idea that every single one of them had been thirty seconds away from being gunned down by the international crime syndicate from whom they'd stolen their latest supply. These foolish children were trying to run when they could barely walk, and they thought they could save anyone? If Sue hadn't come by, they probably wouldn't have even saved themselves.

If the world was apparently reliant on them, then she was destined for a whole lot of heavy lifting. God, she hated kids. And teenagers. And young adults. Whatever the hell these people qualified as.

She needed to think. Sue had seen an awful lot of MGH abuse during her time, and absolutely no one had behaved like this. Was it something about the pills that let the hormone linger permanently, or something about the kids? Why would the Yakuza sell pills that mutated people? There couldn’t be a market for it, not on the level that they’d been producing these pills. Even more than some sappy sob story about her sister that... that she didn't want to think about, this assessment convinced her that there was something strange about this group. Something yes, otherworldly. It was time to change the subject until she had a firmer handle on things. She didn't want them asking questions she wasn't prepared to answer. "How'd I die there?"

Their surprise amused her. "When I got here, you said you killed me," Sue reminded Finn. Freed from Sue’s attention-grabbing arrival, the rest of the kids took in his words with horror, and Finn shrank under their accusing stares. "Was it just an accident when a pill went down with some nasty side effects, or do I need to be on the lookout for an extremely tall nemesis in my future here, too?"

Finn exhaled. "Do you want the truth?" Her level stare was his answer. "Of course you do. Okay. Well. You were helping us fight some evil alien things, and I got possessed by one. We were all on a plane together, so there was nowhere to run, and the thing inside my brain took your gun and killed you. I'm really sorry." The others still looked upset. "It wasn’t my fault! I got Exorcisted!"

"Bullshit," Sue decided after a beat. "I am trained in seventeen types of armed and unarmed combat, and no one can get my weapon away from me without—" Her mouth snapped closed as her gun glowed purple and flew out of her hands, into his. Finn smiled and shrugged in apology, then floated her gun back to her. She snatched it from the air and re-holstered it. "That's actually good to know," she decided. "Holsters open to telekinetic assault are a current weakness in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s equipment designs." She made a mental note. It was better to focus on that than her surprise over actually being disarmed. 

"So, yeah. I did kill you," Finn said. "I'm sorry. Super sorry."

"I heard you the first time." Confusion was evident across every single one of their innocent faces. "What, do you think I'm horrified at the idea of dying? The only thing Agent Sue Sylvester is scared of is dying without taking enough of the bastards out with me. Did I leave a mark on whoever we were fighting there?"

No one replied immediately. "I probably remember it better than anyone right now," Finn said, looking around, "because I ripped off a scab." Well, that sounded disgusting. When he noticed her expression, Finn explained, "We've got stickers covering our memories, and they peel right up. But there are some other memories that are buried deeper, and when you uncover them, well... it's kind of like you have to rip them free. Like a scab. I ripped off one that I thought was about you, and I was right. That's how I remember killing you. I guess no one else remembered it, from how they looked so mad at me."

"So these scabs are for the bad memories of that world," Sue summarized. "The things you don't want to know about it."

Huh. Maybe that place wasn’t so perfect, after all. She liked hearing that; it made things more balanced. More believable.

It was clear that they'd never put it so bluntly to themselves, and no one looked happy about knowing that a bunch of unknown bad memories were lurking. After a beat, Kurt cleared his throat and asked, "Finn, were you able to do that safely? I know we said we'd practice on me first...." Puck grimaced, but Kurt shook his head and patted the back of Puck's hand. 

"It hurt," Finn admitted. "Practice would be good."

"It'll be fine," Kurt murmured to Puck. "He can see my mind easily. Easier than anyone's. He won't hurt me." It was sweet. It was trusting. Sue wanted to gag.

"Coach Sylvester," Quinn began. In the light from the lamp, either her skin glowed like she was using some hundred-dollar-per-bottle glitter lotion, or she was beginning to show some effects from the MGH, as well. Sue said nothing. If these kids wanted to romp down the road of controlled substances, then they could see those side effects on their own time. "How can you just... not care about hearing that Finn killed you?"

She'd told them already that a blaze of glory was the important thing, but apparently, it hadn't sunk in. Of course it hadn't. If they'd only recovered the happy, easy memories, it was no wonder these immature 'heroes' wouldn't accept this truth, either. Sue sighed and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. "I'm a soldier. I serve a cause greater than myself: the continued safety, and hell, basic existence of every person in this country. On a broader level, given the enemies we often face, I also look after every person on this planet. I’m no hero, but it’s the same role they take on when they go toe to toe with someone dangerous: the willingness to see the bigger picture. Sometimes, the biggest part you can play in it is to lay down your life."

Quinn looked startled, and Sue's gaze sharpened on her like a hawk sighting a mouse. "I'm... I'm sorry, Coach Sylvester."

"I am not a 'coach.' Call me Agent Sylvester or, if you must, Sue."

"...Sue. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to look so surprised. It's not really the sort of image I had of you. That any of us had of you." Mutely, the others nodded, and looked just as shocked as Quinn had. Good. They could use a dose of hard reality. If they insisted on playing the most shallow version of heroes imaginable, they should hear what it meant to be a real one. Sometimes, the hard call had to be made. Being a hero didn’t always mean fame, fortune, and easy victories. It seldom did.

"I guess it makes sense," Mercedes said hesitantly. "That she would be okay with it. If she was trying to get us to safety to stop the bad guys, then she was practically like our bodyguard. Those guys all know what they're signing up for." 

"Yeah, she was always just pretending to be a cheerleading coach with a stick up her ass," Puck agreed. "She signed on for the real deal. She knew about the Rifts and how dangerous they were."

"I don’t think she was pretending with the stick," Artie said.

Tina opened her mouth, but quieted at Sue’s dark expression. 

"Yes. I was your bodyguard. Now, I'm your babysitter," Sue said shortly. 

Mercedes bit her lip. "Wait, you’re sticking around? Like, for good?" Sue wanted to scream. Had they not been paying attention to her interest in their nebulous world-saving goals? They were less observant than a Rabbi eating pork in a tattoo parlor.

"What, are you worried that I’m going to turn you in for that basketball-sized cache of illegal drugs you’ve done a terrible job of hiding?" (She might if the opportunity arose after she’d made ample use of these children, but they didn’t need to know that. Seeing them sweat it out under the watchful eyes of DEA agents would be hilarious.)

Everyone froze.

"Have I not made mention of you popping pills to get powers?" Sue asked, annoyed. "What did you think I was talking about? Sudafed past its expiry date?"

"Sudafed does that?" Brittany asked, frowning.

"We... we could be talking about something else," Mike ventured. "Our parents work for S.H.I.E.L.D. research. Maybe we saw some of their totally not illegal experiments and have been testing them. Or something."

"Or yeah, something," Puck agreed, and was echoed by some of the others. Morons.

Sue smiled tolerantly, because she knew putting on a warm expression was one of the most terrifying things she could do. Now that she had a view of this landscape and was committed to the task, it was time to take control of the situation. Full control. "And I might believe that, if Kurt hadn’t outright told me that you all have been taking MGH, possession of which at that volume is a class-one felony in the state of California."

Everyone froze again.

"He did it while informing me that his current ice queen look is a side effect from those pills," Sue reminded them.

Santana slapped Kurt upside the back of his head. He yelped. Puck pulled Kurt close to him, protective, and Kurt mumbled, "Ice king."

"I mentioned the Yakuza, too," Sue pointed out. "So I know where you got your MGH, to boot: stealing from an organized crime syndicate." They stared at her in shock as the pieces fell into place, clearly laid out by a government agent who had reminded them that she was not their friend or cheerleading coach, and it became clear just how very vulnerable they were. Good. "For people tasked with saving anything larger than an earthworm stranded on a sidewalk, you are breathtakingly blind to the basics of the world around you. I know you’re abusing MGH to stay superpowered. If you don’t want to get turned over to another agent who will take a stricter view of federal drug laws than I do, then perhaps you should cooperate with me to the very full extent of your abilities. Otherwise, all of you might be making your single call from a prison with a general population that will leave you praying that you’re put into total isolation." Their visible fear was entertaining.

"Now," Sue continued almost sweetly, and reveled in how fully she’d seized control, "are you going to tell me _everything_ you’ve been doing?"

She didn’t leave until after midnight, and told them to expect her back the next morning. Sue nodded to the plainclothes agent who arrived with a tow truck for the Yakuza, and then went to sleep in her car. Just in case someone tried to run.

* * *

They had three main jobs in New York City: get some MGH, talk to Spider-Man, and meet X-Factor in Mutant Town. All of those were, by far, the best tasks that Sam Evans had ever been handed in his life. Still, they fell into a distinct hierarchy: a bunch of mutant detectives, as cool as they were, could never compare to meeting one of the biggest heroes in the world, nor to getting _his own superpowers._

On the road to New York City _(New York City! Where superheroes lived!)_ , Sam had come to the sleepy conclusion that they needed to talk to this Peter Parker guy first. Someone who worked for a newspaper could point them in the right direction of the problems they needed to discover for these Los Angeles heroes, and Spider-Man, of course, was Spider-Man. Okay, maybe Sam wanted to talk to Spider-Man first just because he was Spider-Man, and maybe Peter would put on the costume if Sam asked nicely.

As they approached the city limits, though, another spot on the map drew his eye more and more. Coming from the west like they were, it did make sense to stop at the Daily Bugle in Manhattan first, and Spider-Man was still Spider-Man. Yet, he directed the car toward Brooklyn. 

Meeting a superhero would be one thing. Becoming a superhero was something else entirely.

Something better.

The backlit skyline quieted them as they entered New York. Sam had mythologized the city for its superheroic inhabitants; Blaine, for its arts and culture. Both of them were awed like pilgrims seeing a holy city. Even Lauren, who'd said she had little tolerance for cities the size of Minneapolis, was impressed at the picture postcard in front of her. Until they'd passed across Manhattan and were on the bridge to Brooklyn, no one said a word.

The first words were worried. "I don't know about this." 

Surprisingly, the complaint came from Lauren, not their driver. Sam liked both of them, but an overnight assessment of his new friends—if that's what they were—had been easy to make. Blaine was polite and liked to focus on the positive when he could, but had small tolerance for what he viewed as foolishness, while Lauren was bluntly and forcefully realistic, if probably not quite as confident as the facade she put up. Between the two, Blaine showed far more caution, yet Lauren was the one to look increasingly worried as they approached Red Hook. "Do you know how serious they are about checking for steroids and stuff? Guys can get away with stuff, but girls' teams are totally disposable. I could lose my scholarship."

"Are you planning to still be taking MGH in a few weeks?" Sam asked. She shook her head. "Then don't worry. Even meth's out of your system in about five days." Both looked startled and Sam realized he'd said too much. He wasn't ashamed of his job, nor of his dad for losing his during the crash, but the world sure tried to make a person feel bad about not being able to afford more than a cheap hotel room. It wasn't their fault, they hadn't done anything wrong, and yet say one word about losing a house and the look in people's eyes could range from pity to superiority to disdain. He'd gotten handed advice that he didn't need. Like how to cheat on drug tests. Like they thought he needed to know.

"No," Lauren finally said. "I guess it'll be okay."

"It'll be great," Sam said firmly. A pause as they navigated the streets, then, "You know, when I was growing up, I always wanted to find out that I was a mutant."

Blaine nearly steered into a parked car before he corrected himself. "Why?" he asked disbelievingly, with only one eye on the road.

"Because to get other superpowers, you have to find a secret lab or genetic experiment or something. But anyone can be a mutant! It'd be like getting your Hogwarts letter when you hit puberty. You know?"

"I was dealing with enough," Blaine said softly. Sam didn’t think he’d meant to be heard.

Sam looked at Lauren. "Come on. You’ve gotta want superpowers, right? You talk about being a badass. Superheroes are extra badass." Lauren snorted, and Sam prodded, "Don’t you want to have everyone stare at you and go...." 

Her flat look stilled him. "Dude, picture looking like you’re _not supposed to look_ ," Lauren said, "and get back to me on whether you want to risk being a bright orange mutant on top of that, just so you can run a little faster." She didn’t sound defeated, but accepting. It was stupid that the world judged her, but she didn't deny that it happened. No, Lauren wasn't quite as confident as her facade. Not quite.

The mood in the car was enough to quiet Sam. He supposed things were different for them, yeah. Before the sudden collapse of his family's finances, he'd never had to deal with all that much; some challenges there, some here, but nothing like theirs. It probably was easier for someone like him to indulge in the idea of being a superpowered mutant, physical changes or not. He could step out of that daydream and back into everyday life a lot more easily.

Still... he wanted to look out for people. He wanted to make a difference. He'd been able to buy food for his little brother and sister, and the look on their faces when he'd brought home a favorite meal made him feel like a little bit of a pretend superhero. If things went south for his family again, he wanted to know that he could handle that challenge. If he saw someone else in dire straits, he wanted to put that look on their faces, too. And real heroes could do that. That's why they were heroes. There wasn't _anything_ they couldn't do. And he was about to become one himself, at least for a little while.

The men at the Red Hook dock knew the names Puck had given them, even if they didn't recognize 'Noah Puckerman' in return. Sam couldn’t help but grin at the broad warehouses and passing forklifts; it was exactly as he’d pictured from Puck’s mention, and every new experience made this all the more real. A handful of questions later, they had a week’s doses of MGH. "And it's safe?" Blaine asked as Sam pocketed the small blue capsules. Although Blaine had handled the purchase, as Lauren was openly suspicious of everyone they met and Sam was about to dance a superpowers jig, he apparently felt free to let his concerns loose now that they had the drugs in hand.

"Heavy users sometimes rage," the dealer said, glancing about like they were soon to be caught. "And you never know what the power'll be until you try it. If you like a power, keep taking pills, don't let the dose fade out, and it’ll stay the same. Other than that, yeah, it's fine."

"Thanks," Blaine said, still uncertain, and the man hurried around the warehouse corner. Sighing, Blaine turned back and shrugged. The long drive had rumpled him. By that point he looked more like part of their group, and a good deal younger. Less like a guy whose annual school tuition cost more than Sam's dad made. Still, all three of them stuck out painfully among the rusted doors and industrial siding. "Should we try it now, or wait?" he asked as they walked back toward his car.

"Wait," Lauren said, just as Sam said, "Try it now." She glanced at him uneasily.

The logic was simple in Sam's eyes. "We need to talk to Spider-Man and X-Factor, right? Spider-Man might take us more seriously if we looked like heroes, too. Plus, the L.A. guys said it would be dangerous to visit X-Factor in Mutant Town. We should get used to using these powers before we try to do either one." 

Although the others didn't look happy, they couldn't argue. All three swallowed a pill, chased by warm, flat Cokes they'd picked up at a gas station somewhere in Pennsylvania.

"I feel a little sick," Blaine said after a few minutes of waiting. "Do you really think it's safe?"

"Are you just nervous?" Sam asked. He felt a little off, as well. They hadn't really trusted those gas station bathrooms on the way. Maybe they all just needed to poop.

"Maybe," he admitted.

Sam was nervous, too, as little as he liked to admit it. He didn't think that those guys in Los Angeles would have steered them wrong. Something about Mercedes' voice made him think that he should really trust her. He had no idea what she looked like, no memories to unearth, but her voice... resonated, like he'd never heard from a stranger before. She spoke like someone who really knew him, and he didn't think there was a good enough actor in the world to be that convincing. Still, he'd never had illegal drugs before. (Pot at a party didn't really count.) Amazing powers to come or not, it was still nerve-rattling.

"Is this really going to work?" Lauren asked after another long beat. "I don't feel any different. I think we got duds. We wasted our money."

"My money," Blaine murmured.

"I gave you five bucks."

"Everyone, stay calm," Sam lectured when the others seemed ready to devolve into a full-fledged argument. "They warned us that we could get mad on this stuff, so we should all stay really _holy shit your arm's made out of metal!_ " He grabbed Lauren's shoulder and shook it in delight as they watched Blaine. "Look at him! What can you do?" he demanded of Lauren as Blaine, startled, stared at the metal plating creeping under his sleeve.

"I don't know," Lauren said uncertainly. "I don't feel any different, yet. Does it hurt?"

"No," Blaine said, swallowing hard, as the metal reached his throat. It reminded Sam of Colossus on the X-Men, although this was a duller, richer grey than the famous hero's chrome-like appearance. Blaine's breathing edged toward hyperventilation as the metal spread to his mouth, then nose, but calmed when the plating covered him with no ill effect. He was left as a metal version of himself, lined with thin seams like some master craftsman had joined expertly cut sheets of steel together.

Lauren turned to say something to Sam and started. Her surprise made Sam look away from Blaine, back to himself, and he jumped as well. So focused on Blaine, he hadn't noticed that his hands had turned purple. As he watched, they deepened to a rich blue. Blaine was right; it didn't hurt. It didn't feel like anything, up until his clothes grew uncomfortably tight and Sam realized that he'd put on a couple inches in height and twenty pounds of muscle, or more. "Awesome," he breathed as he stared at himself in the side mirror. His eyes were the same, and his hair the same golden blond, but from hairline to collar he looked like he'd been dyed indigo. When he slid a hand under his car’s frame, he was able to lift that side half a foot without straining.

Both boys turned toward Lauren and waited expectantly for similar physical changes. The order made sense; they'd all taken the same dosage, and they'd shown the results from smallest body mass to largest. What would Lauren get after Blaine's armor plating and Sam's mini-Hulk? Another minute stretched by, then another, and she still looked the same. "Maybe that pill was a dud," Lauren said, shrugging.

"Not all mutants have physical changes," Blaine recited, sounding like someone who'd looked up the topic before. "You might have other powers. Can you fly?"

Well, that little hop of hers probably wasn't going to really test any sort of flight power, whether it existed or not. Lauren's brow furrowed and she griped, "I can't read your thoughts, can't see under your clothes...."

"Can you punch hard?" Sam suggested, while Blaine frowned at her attempt at X-ray vision. "I bet pills could give you super-strength."

Blaine held up his hand for a target, saying that he probably had armor for a reason, but Lauren's punch into his palm only ended with her shaking her hand and grimacing. He looked at his hand after her strike rebounded, flexed it, and looked genuinely pleased for the first time since they’d arrived in Brooklyn. "This sucks," Lauren declared, and slapped her open palm against the sedan behind her. "I want powers... too...." Wide-eyed, they stepped away from the car that now looked like it was caught in an earthquake. It jostled back and forth, its worn-out shocks squeaking, until the tremor passed down through its tires and into the pavement. Like some tunneling animal, the force of her blow drilled through the earth until it hit a streetlight’s base. The pole quivered and toppled sideways, landing on the car of some worker who'd been unfortunate enough to park beside it. All of them froze as a car alarm screeched.

"We should probably go talk to Spider-Man," Blaine said, swallowing. As he did, his armor faded back into normal skin. Apparently, it was something that he could turn on and off, even if Sam's big blue body seemed to be stuck in the 'on' position for as long as he was on the drug.

"Let's go talk to Spider-Man," Lauren agreed, wide-eyed.

"Before that guy from the office yells at us," Sam added as someone came running toward them, and the three of them pitched themselves into Blaine's car.

When they were safely in Manhattan, they started breathing easy again. Sam risked poking his blue head up from the back seat and watched traffic stream by them, and then looked back at his cobalt blue hand. After a few long beats, he grinned. Neither of them believed Sam when he said, as power-testing went, that had actually gone pretty well.

* * *

Sue Sylvester hated everyone. It was a good rule and she generally stuck to it.

Still, she'd needed to bring someone along to talk to another boy they'd apparently roped into their mad schemes, and so that morning Quinn had volunteered herself to get out of that man-choked apartment. Santana and Brittany were tracking down someone with the entirely ridiculous name of Cooper Anderson while the two of them were on the hunt for Jesse St. James. (Also ridiculous.) 

As she'd suspected upon first meeting these kids, Sue didn't hate Quinn quite as much as she hated a lot of people. Quinn Fabray was cold—appropriate, given her powers, for which she’d just taken a fresh pill—and fiercely independent, with only a minor propensity toward consideration for others. It was the sort of small flaw that a person could dig out and squash like a beetle before they hit legal drinking age.

"I knew you, back in that other world," Quinn said as she studied the houses passing by. Sue had taken a long way to St. James' apartment. One that her enemies wouldn't expect. "As much as we could know someone like you, I suppose."

"You were a trainee?" Sue asked. This girl might be good with headshots. Sue enjoyed a good headshot. Afterward, she felt like Jackson Pollack.

"In a manner of speaking," Quinn said dryly. "I was captain of your cheerleading squad. The Cheerios."

"Cheerleading," Sue said, like the word tasted rotten. "Called the Cheerios. That's so adorable that I could vomit, but for all I know you'd start up a cheer about comets and bonnets. And then I'd be forced to shoot you." 

"You liked cheerleading," Quinn said, grinning.

"Not possible."

"I remember finding you reviewing every song on the Billboard Top 40 with a metronome, to see if we could fit double-time movements into it."

This was offensive. "I do not listen to the Billboard Top 40. I am neither the host of a Rockin’ New Years Eve nor Simon Cowell’s abandoned television catastrophe." 

"You did," Quinn sing-songed. "Sorry."

At hearing that _pleasure_ in Quinn’s voice, Sue jerked the car into a sliding parallel parking job like few people in the city could have managed, stuntmen included. "I am not actually a babysitter, despite my joke of a label earlier," Sue hissed, gratified to see the shock in Quinn's eyes. "I am a machine for espionage, assassinations, and killing. If you think that we are any sort of friends, you'd better grab your little playmates and find yourself a different jungle gym before you learn what spending time with Sue Sylvester is really about."

Though her face betrayed fear, Quinn's voice was almost steady when she said, "Assassinations and killing are the same things."

Sue studied her. Quinn swallowed, but held her eyes until Sue looked away to pull them back out into traffic. "No," Sue began when they were back in motion. "Assassinations are targeted, and ideally, quiet. They're about people who matter. Killing is what you do to random pawns on the board of life."

"What?"

Sue reveled in the chance to unsettle Quinn, now. She thought cheerleading could upset a person? It was time to hear about what happened off the football field. "A week ago, I ran down a weapons dealer in Krakow before he could hand off a stolen German prototype to his Russian pickup. A tour bus tipped, avoiding us. It was bad, but I didn’t look back. What was inside that suitcase could have caused ten thousand deaths, not ten."

Quinn glowered. "You don’t know if anyone died?" Hmph. Maybe she cared more about others than Sue had originally thought. Under that pleasantly brittle exterior might beat the gooey heart of a weakling. Unfortunate.

"I know ten thousand people didn’t." Sue shrugged. "And yet, if that weapon had been used and they had all died, they wouldn’t have mattered individually; it’d just be the worldwide shock over them being snuffed out. Not unless someone worthy of an assassination also got caught up in it. See how it works?"

"Everyone matters." Quinn’s jaw set. "You said before that you look after everyone on the planet. And you should."

"I see someone's been sure to catch Mr. Rogers on the way home from school." Sue’s mouth thinned. "You know why we didn’t leave until five minutes after Santana and Brittany did? Because I was talking to HQ about the corpses I crammed into a car trunk. And no, I didn’t find it vital to mention that tidbit before now."

Quinn stayed quiet.

"And yes," Sue continued, "I meant it when I said I look after everyone. Would you kill ten people on a tour bus to stop a weapon from getting out that would kill ten thousand people?" She waited. "Ten million? Let me know when the scales balance."

"Being in Ohio was good for you," Quinn eventually said. If they'd been moving instead of sitting at a red light, Sue would have parked again, even more violently, so that she could glare at Quinn with all the fury that ridiculous statement deserved. "You were completely insane and over-the-top, but sometimes you at least pretended to act like a human being."

Sue snorted. An elite agent like her benefitted from time on the shooting range, not time marooned in some backwater mission posting with no one but the misguided youth of America for company. _And your sister,_ she thought in that pale boy's voice, before she squashed the traitorous thought. She'd paid for the very best care for Jean, and she'd seen her when she could. It wasn’t time to regret. It was never time to regret. She’d slipped in that apartment and let herself feel too much. "Actual big deals, Charlize, are world-ending threats and supervillain manifestos. What could possibly compare in Ohio?" The light changed and they leapt forward.

Quinn maintained her tone almost admirably, considering how ridiculous her next words were. "You want to know when you acted human? When a group of kids who didn't have any other friends to turn to were about to lose a competition and get torn apart. You kept the club together. I'd gotten thrown out of my own house because I was pregnant, and these were the only people who were there for—"

"A club. You're comparing international espionage to some high school club." So, this girl was apparently unable to remember a daily pill, or at least to tell a boy to wrap that kielbasa before she let it near her. She wouldn't make a good agent, after all. Why had Sue bothered to give her the benefit of the doubt? Why had she bothered with any of them? 

Because of Jean. Dammit. 

"It was important to us," Quinn argued, then frowned as she saw the futility. But she tried again. "What if a student you'd coached was about to be orphaned because his only parent was in a coma from a heart attack?"

Sue shrugged. "Heart attacks have known risk factors. It's not my fault if that kid was unaware that his mother or father was dead on their feet. Should've made arrangements for guardianship well before that." Quinn went pale, and the faint glitter now embedded in her skin sparkled like sun on snow. Just like the others, she’d ignored the MGH side effects that she thought were temporary. "What? I'm a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, Girl Scout, and that means I am a walking weapon. I don't have time for coddling a bunch of snot-nosed yard apes who, from the sound of it, need to be smacked around a little by life if you think that losing one school club competition is a Shakespearean tragedy." She glanced over and smirked. "Would you kill ten people to save the world? Let me know when I’m in a ballpark range. There have been threats to the whole galaxy, you know. Multiple dimensions. Trillions of lives that you’d throw away for the sake of a tour bus."

"I don't know what happened to you," Quinn hissed, "but if I thought you were terrible before, I was wrong. It's like you barely have a soul here."

Sue rolled her eyes as she swerved around a particularly angry man having an argument with the next car over. If Quinn couldn’t see that this was a deliberate power play for Sue to regain control over the conversation, then what hope was there for her? It was blindingly obvious.

"When Kurt’s dad—"

"Oh, so it was his dad?" Sue asked, barely able to hold back her smile. Quinn’s fury grew. This was fun. "Well, he probably had his heart attack after he discovered that his son is a limpwristed mutant drug dealer who enjoys canoodling with mohawked, jowly thugs. Not especially considerate on your little friend’s part, I have to say."

"He was scared and alone."

"Then I’m sure he regretted giving his father a heart attack."

Quinn took a deep breath. "You cared about your sister," she said. "We all saw how you reacted when we mentioned Jean."

"Don't—" Sue flinched. _Dammit._ She’d hate this weakness, but she couldn’t hate anything related to Jean. "Don't say her name."

"You took the job in Ohio so that you could spend time with her. You visited her every day before she died, or called her on the phone. Every single day. Did you get to do that here?"

They drove another block, and Sue never responded. 

"Did you even care about her here?" Quinn snapped. "Because this crazy bitch Sue I’m in the car with probably wouldn't—"

For as good a driver as Sue, it was easy to maneuver through rush hour Los Angeles traffic with one hand around Quinn's throat. Other drivers honked in fury, and some even looked ready to ram her, but she ignored them all. "If you ever imply again that I didn't love my sister," Sue said, feeling Quinn's pulse flutter against her fingertips, "then I will close my hand." Quinn’s heartbeat sped; it was enough of a reply. After another ten seconds to make her point clear, Sue put that hand back on the steering wheel.

"So you did leave her alone, here," Quinn said, very carefully. "With the doctors."

Sue's hand twitched toward Quinn again, but she kept it firm where it was. "I've made mistakes. In my personal life, only. If I use up my quota there, then I'll stay perfect on the job." They pulled into another flashy stop, this time in front of Jesse St. James' apartment complex, and Sue glanced at Quinn. For someone who'd just been threatened with murder, she was admirably composed. Maybe she could handle a few headshots, after all. "Why are you so interested in me?"

Quinn's mouth tightened. "Because despite what you said about not being a hero, you did turn out to be one of the biggest ones I ever knew, back in that other world. We remembered a lot, and then Finn told us the rest of what he remembered after you left. You saved us. You saw yourself as someone to sacrifice, like you told us last night, but you still found room to care about other people. I wanted to see if I was dealing with the same woman. I guess I'm not."

That stung, for some reason. Sue had never held any illusions of being... noble, but the rank disappointment in this girl's voice stung. "The world is what it is," Sue decided on, when the decision to leave Jean again floated to the top of her mind. She hadn’t thought about her sister for a long time, until these kids nosed their way into her life. "We make the decisions we make, and that's what we have to live with. You can either deal with it and move on, or wallow. And I don't wallow."

They walked up to the apartment, glowering at each other. Sue wished that she’d left Quinn back at the apartment. They’d planned on retrieving Jesse for the job he’d agreed to with an approach that would make sense to him, but it would have been much simpler to just hogtie him and throw him in her trunk. Sue didn’t need backup for that. "Get him," she ordered. "If we need everyone here in L.A. to save the world, then we’d better get that Rachel girl here pronto." 

"What?" Quinn asked, shouting over a clamor of sirens and horns in the distance. A lesser driver than Sue had probably T-boned another car on the busy streets. _Maybe there’ll be an accident with a tour bus,_ Sue thought with a wicked smile, before repeating her orders more loudly. She’d be sure to drive past the wreck on the way back, and point it out to Quinn.

Quinn knocked on Jesse’s door. "Santana should have come," she said as she waited. "She and Brittany know Cooper, but here, Jesse only knows Santana, Kurt, and Mercedes. Brittany could have gotten this Cooper guy on her own, even if she doesn’t like him much." The obvious follow-up went unspoken: Kurt, Mercedes, and the others were increasingly obsessed with finding two abducted girls, like their little mystery club could outperform the LAPD or Disney’s own security force. (Kurt had called them stormtroopers. He had no idea. Movie stormtroopers couldn’t aim for shit, while Sue was reluctantly impressed with a few of the fighters she’d seen hired there, and in some other top-flight media studios where billions of wealth was concentrated in a few kidnappable celebrities and as-yet unrealized, easily stolen ideas.)

"Stop knocking!" yelled a voice inside the apartment, after Quinn tried again. It shouted over thumping, muffled music that put Sue on edge, as muted as it was by the door and the sirens that wouldn’t shut up. "I’ve got a headache!" A hangover, no doubt.

"Jesse?" Quinn shouted as she ignored his protests and tried again. "My name’s Quinn. I’m friends with the three people you talked to about Rachel Berry? Santana, Mercedes, and Kurt?" She sighed. "We got in touch with you yesterday about doing this today?" Still nothing. "Jesse, she’s on London time! We need to do this in the morning!" She slammed her fist one last time, hard.

The music snapped off abruptly and the door opened. The young man who stood there might have been handsome on a good day, but he looked a wreck now. Jesse St. James was disheveled and glaring, and yet Sue didn’t see any signs of drug use. Pupils were normal, eyes weren’t bloodshot, and his scraped knuckles looked freshly torn instead of being the result of delusional, self-harming picking at his flesh. It was as if a normal man had, abruptly, decided to attack his own walls for the hell of it. "What?" he growled.

Quinn opened her mouth, closed it against whatever she was going to say, and frowned. "You don’t smell drunk," she finally settled on. "What, did you get thrown out of UCLA again?"

"Quinn," Sue said, slowly turning toward the streets they’d traveled. The sirens weren’t stopping. She could hear other accidents. Her nerves itched.

"Wake up, Jesse," Quinn snapped when he didn’t reply. "It’s already past nine and we need to get going with this." His nostrils flared. "I’m talking to you," she said more sharply, and snapped her fingers in front of Jesse’s nose.

When she snapped, he did. Jesse grabbed Quinn’s arm. His other hand punched Quinn in the face hard enough to drop her. In the next second he fell to Sue’s return blow, but the damage was done. Blood spread across Quinn’s perfect, glittered face like....

_Like a Jackson Pollack,_ Sue thought, angry at herself. How the hell had she let someone get to this girl she’d taken along with an implicit promise of protection? How had she failed to identify this Jesse kid as the obvious threat he was?

Black smoke billowed over the trees and roofs. The main road they’d taken had at least a few cars on fires, and the sirens were still screaming. Sue could hear shouting in the distance. "Dammit," she realized. "Rioting. It’s India and Pakistan all over again. This whole city is a powder keg."

"What was he listening to?" Quinn mumbled, and Sue was surprised to see the girl already struggling back to consciousness. Blood made a painter’s dripcloth of her shirt. "India and Pakistan. Music. The song. What...."

Sue frowned and went inside to check. Quinn called after her, "Don’t listen too long!"

"I’m not an idiot," Sue said, although she didn’t fully understand what was going on. She turned up the volume and heard some saccharine, girly voice on a bubblegum pop song. By the time she’d listened to enough lyrics to hear that the girl was singing about how fun it was to watch people bleed, Sue nearly had her gun out of her holster with intent to use it. She slammed it back in with a heroic feat of effort and turned off the music. "You knew about this?" she asked Quinn angrily.

"Did we not tell you what those girls were doing?" Quinn asked.

"No, you didn’t tell me what those girls were doing! I specifically told you to tell me everything!"

"Well," Quinn said, not bothering to wipe away the blood under her nose before it dried, "maybe we were a little busy telling you about the aliens and what we were doing in New York and any enemies we might have, even though we can’t remember them and you didn’t want Finn to risk giving us brain damage just _yet!_ "

"Thanks to your short-sightedness," Sue seethed, "this city is now... they... you still haven’t told me what that song is!"

"Empathic songs. Emotional control via music, from those kidnapped girls. If someone’s playing those songs over a radio station here, then...." Quinn’s face fell. As Sue realized what she was saying, her stomach dropped.

Shakily, Quinn continued, "Then everyone in a car might hear it. That’s who Kurt and Mercedes and everyone else are trying to find." They looked over their shoulders at the sun in the sky, and judged the time again. Still rush hour. Still Los Angeles. And anyone listening to a car radio might want to kill every last person they saw.

Sue never felt hopeless, only determined... but it would take a hell of a lot of determination to get back to Kurt’s apartment with the other kids who knew about this threat. They’d been driving for half an hour to get to Jesse’s Brentwood apartment, and that was before the streets were choked with a developing riot situation. Her car was useless, now. Sure, she could get a helicopter there soon enough, but she might have to put down a lot of musical zombies in the meantime. 

Explaining this to HQ would be _hell_.

"Jesse," Quinn said angrily, and started slapping his face. "Jesse, wake up. Jesse. Jesse!"

He glowered at her when he came to, but he didn’t lash out. From his example, the music’s effects faded quickly enough, once the audio stopped and people had worked out their pent-up rage. Good.

"I need you to take this pill," Quinn said, holding up a MGH tablet from her purse.

"What is it?" he asked, frowning and still woozy from Sue’s attack.

"You have the power to teleport. You need to take this, get those powers back, and teleport us to this address." Quinn showed him Kurt’s address on her phone.

"What?" Jesse asked, before Quinn shoved the pill into his mouth and held it shut. When she produced an icicle from her hand and held it above one of his eyes, he swallowed. Hard. Quinn held the icicle in place until he swallowed several more times, and then forced him to take a drink, even as he protested that he’d swallowed the pill right away.

_Not bad,_ Sue admitted reluctantly, buried deep under her irritation.

"And now we wait to see how quickly that pill takes hold," Quinn said after a long minute, satisfied, "and he gets us out of here."

"You didn’t tell me that he could teleport," Sue seethed. "And he probably _can’t_ , you know. All of you are a special case, Fabray. Just because you all know what powers you’re going to get, it doesn’t mean some kid with this universe as his home base isn’t going to react normally to MGH."

"I feel weird," Jesse said.

"Good, it’s working," Quinn said. He looked ready to complain more, until she pointed to her bloody nose with a murderous gleam in her eyes and held the address in front of his face again.

Sue continued like she hadn’t been interrupted. "Which means you might have just turned a man with rioting on his mind into—"

They were abruptly in Kurt’s living room, and the sounds of rioting were louder. Everyone there looked at them with surprise. Mercedes squeaked, Kurt clutched his hands to his chest, and Tina’s tail was a thick black bristle, but no one was more shocked than Jesse. The disheveled boy yelped like his ass had been jabbed with a pin, and clutched desperately to the girl he’d just bloodied.

"I’m fine," Quinn told everyone as they fretted, and shot a darkly amused look to Mercedes and Kurt. "I just didn’t have a shield to stop someone from punching me in the nose after he listened to the world’s angriest pop song." Kurt grimaced at the memory of trying to attack Mercedes, and, despite his obvious distaste, moved to help Jesse with something like sympathy. The rest of the kids were still clustered around a Google map on Artie’s laptop, speckled with pins for the record studios they’d tracked down in their hunt for the kidnapped girls.

"Why do I have powers?" Jesse asked weakly. "Why did I punch the hot girl?"

Even more than she hated people, Sue really hated being wrong.


End file.
